Kryptonite
by MissScorp
Summary: Gotham's newest threat has killed everything they have ever hunted. They have never killed a man who has half-human and half-Kryptonian blood, though. Will Superboy be their first, or will the Batfamily stop them before they can accomplish their goal? T for mild language and comic book violence. *Complete*
1. Trouble

"So I was thinking that we should throw a surprise party for Dick's birthday..."

Conner Kent's voice trailed off into nothing as he heard a woman's high-pitched scream. _No_, he mentally corrected as he attenuated to the sound. That was not just some ordinary woman off the streets screaming. It was _Raya_ screaming. Something must be wrong. Something must be very, _very _wrong, he realized, his body going taut as piano wire. Raya Kean was simply not the sort of woman to scream like that. Not unless there was something- or _someone_, he mentally corrected, _making _her cry out.

_But what could the reason be?_

His brow knit into a pensive frown while he contemplated the various reasons for why his girlfriend of the past seven months was screeching in a mixture of terror and rage. Conner felt himself squirming for keeping such a secret from Tim, and was on the verge of telling his best friend the truth when he heard another, even higher pitched shriek. However, the sound was distorted this time. _No_, he mentally corrected. It was _muted_. As if she had a hand covering her mouth. Conner felt anger flicker to life inside him, mixing with an almost overdose of fear. Tim had told him earlier that Raya's biological father was again making threats on her life. It was something that had not pleased him to discover, especially since _she'd_ neglected to be the one to tell him about the threats.

_Could Berkeley have sent goons to Gotham University to catch her as she was leaving her last class? _A frown puckered his brow. No, Raya would have managed to stop anyone that her father sent after her. _Unless the goons managed to somehow catch her unaware..._

The thought caused his belly to tighten. _Where are you_? he wondered. _Who is tormenting you_? He tried to listen, to see if he could hear other voices, but there were so many that he couldn't locate the one that belonged to the person causing Raya so much distress. As he worked on narrowing down what was going on and who the likely suspects were, he tried to recall if Raya told him she was going to go out on patrol tonight, stay at the campus in order to study, or be back at the apartment they _shared _and working on her thesis paper. He was on the verge of asking Tim where she was when he heard her issue another cry, this one much longer in duration and which was filled with an almost helpless rage.

Even before the sound completely reached his ears he was readying himself to take flight. A great anger surged inside him and much like a rocket, the man known around the world as Superboy blasted into the air, zeroing in on the direction from where Raya's high, keening wail had originated from. He honed in on Raya, blocking out every other sound until her voice became the only ambient sound he could hear. Tim called up to him, his blue eyes wide with surprise over his rather rude exit from their conversation and bright with concern, "Conner? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Raya's in trouble!" he yelled down to him before he blasted away. He wasn't completely alone on his mission of rescue, however. Oh no, his faithful sidekick and canine best friend, the Kryptonian wonder dog, Krypto flew right by his side, his bright red tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as they streaked towards their destination. He blasted around a building at the same time Tim let out a string of curses that had his lips twitching despite the seriousness of the situation. _Wow, Tim looks like you've been spending too much time with your mentor,_ Conner thought with a slight chuckle. _You're starting to pick up on some of Batman's less than savory language skills here._

Then he heard a _schwoo _and knew his best friend had fired a line from his grapnel gun in order to follow after him.

Not that it mattered.

_Robin_ was never going to be able to get to the petite woman as quickly as _Superboy _could.

Conner zipped around another corner, heading for a building which sat smack dab in the middle of 250th E. Gotham Boulevard. He flew around a gleaming skyscraper and was immediately caught up in an up-current of air that caressed his overheated flesh with icy fingers. Normally, flying offered him a sense of freedom, of being in control of his own destiny and his own life. Up here, he was responsible for the direction that he took, what path he wanted to choose. Tonight, though, his flight course was chosen so he could save a woman who meant a great deal to him. _No_, he told himself silently. _That's not right. Raya means more than a great deal to me. She means the world to me_. Raya Kean also meant the world to one other man, one whom Conner admired for his dedication to serving the greater good without resorting to the tactics that bastards like the Joker and Lex Luthor tended to employ. Batman viewed Raya in the same way he did Dick, and Tim: as one of his children. If something were to happen to Raya, he'd hate to think about the toll it would take upon the venerable Dark Knight. Losing one child had almost broken the man mentally. To lose a second?

It was not something he even cared to stop and think about.

Conner crested the roof of a building and pulled up when he spied the two people struggling on the penthouse balcony that was across the way. The larger of the pair, a man with dark hair and wearing a tan leather jacket over his black body armor, was cornering Raya between himself and the balcony railing. Even from here he could tell she was having none of it.

"Let me go, Jason!"

Her simple command held ripples of authority, sang with sweet compulsion. Hearing it, Conner felt his lips twitch. If anybody could match Batman's autocratic tone, it was the Fenix. She'd only learned the knack of commanding at his knee. However, that low, velvety tone was lacking its usual strength and intensity. There was an audible tremble in her tone that told the superhero that she was deeply afraid of the man pinning her against the rail. Considering that her terrorizer was Jason Todd-former Robin, Titan and all around asshole in Conner's opinion- he could completely understand her anxiety. Especially since her nervousness was adding to his own.

"Aw, c'mon, Princess," Jason purred. "Shouldn't a kiss go ta the victor as part of his spoils?"

"This isn't a game, you horse's ass!"

"Oh," he replied with a slow smile that caused a shiver to dance along Conner's spine. "I find I have ta disagree with ya about it not being a game. I," he stated in a moist hiss, "Am quite enjoying myself."

Conner's hands bunched into fists at his sides. _He would consider putting moves on my woman a game_, he silently fumed. Not that that should have surprised him any. On a good day, Jason Todd was merely a loose cannon just waiting for the slightest provocation in order to blow. On a bad day, he was an unpredictable maelstrom that couldn't be controlled, no matter how much Batman had tried. His ambiguous view about using a violent _modus operandi _against the criminal sect as a solution to solving the problem of crime in the city kept him perpetually at odds with the other members of his adoptive family.

It was his repeated attacks upon those members of his family that concerned Conner the most. Jason had nearly killed Tim once already and challenged both Bruce and Dick dozens of other times in the past few months. All of those fights had had nearly disastrous consequences upon the three men. And while Jason had never _directly_ attacked any of the female Batfamily members, there was a very distinct possibility, if he was pushed far enough, that he _could_. Cassandra would cream the twerp. However, Barbara and Raya, as well-trained fighters as they were, as capable as each was at holding her own in a fight against just about anybody, could still be hurt by him. Conner knew Jason was a threat that was way more dangerous than anything Raya had ever faced before. _And she's faced off against scum like the Scarecrow and Joker dozens of times_. Even for a guy who didn't have "relatives" of his own, Conner was well aware that family was the most dangerous enemy one could face.

He also knew words could be an even more powerful weapon than fists. With Raya Kean, there came baggage. Some of which was as dark and as twisted as the emotional bullshit rolling around in Jason's own head. Matthew Berkeley-Raya's biological father- had inflicted years of psychological abuse upon his daughter, none more damaging than making her watch as he would beat her mother. Berkeley had also spent years denouncing her existence, telling her she was worthless simply because she'd been born a girl. A thought drifted its way into Conner's subconscious then and had him hissing out one long, low, and violent curse. Jason didn't know about _any _of this. He didn't know how Raya's fear of small spaces had been caused by her father locking her and her mother in a pantry cabinet and leaving them there for hours on end. He didn't know how being backed into a corner could cause her to fall to pieces because of how her father would routinely corner her against a wall in order to bully her into maintaining her silence or doing what he wanted. He didn't know how the word _princess_ was one that caused dozens of cuts to split open and seep fresh blood.

Simply, Jason knew absolutely _nothing_ about the woman he was down there terrorizing.

When Bruce had brought him in as Robin, it had been after he'd sent Raya away (under the guise of attending a finishing school in France) in order to protect her from her father's wrath. _Goddamn it, he doesn't realize he's stepping all over her psychological triggers right now_. He released a frustrated breath even as he heard Raya shout: "Let me go!"

There was such a raw chord of fear in her voice; on her face that it punched a hole in Conner's gut. He glanced over at Krypto, saw that his ears were perked forward and his lip curled into a silent snarl.

"Ready to go and save our girl?"

A low growl was his only reply.

* * *

How things had gotten quite so out of hand, Raya could not say. Somewhere in the twenty minutes since Jason had broken into her apartment by somehow managing to surpass Bruce's security system, and woken her from a sound sleep - by hopping into bed with her no less! - things had gone wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. What had started out as nothing more than a verbal sparring match between the two of them had ended up with her backed into a corner on her penthouse balcony and him trying to claim a kiss as his prize. A _prize _for what she didn't exactly know, but which she suspected was because he knew that Bruce would see it and come after him for it. Raya also figured that making her reveal her fear of him was another possible reason. Considering how the dratted man lived to torment his adoptive father and older brother, she could only assume that his decision to come here to assault her was just another means by which he'd attack both men.

It was clear Jason had come here wanting a fight. He was spoiling for one, in fact. He'd been busy with eliminating a small-time human trafficking ring in the underbelly of Crime Alley for the last week. His violent binge had caused three encounters between him and Bruce, all of which had left scars-mental as well as physical- upon the Wayne patriarch that she knew would never fully heal. Now he was here at her apartment- and how he even knew where she lived was beyond her- looking to go through her in order to get yet another rise out of his adoptive parent. Well, she was bound and determined he wouldn't get it. She wouldn't bring Bruce here just so Jason could get his fix. If he wanted to get into a fight with Bruce? Well, then he'd just have to take his happy ass to the Batcave and punch Bruce in the face in order to get it. Raya wriggled her hands between their bodies and shoved at his armored chest. The blasted man didn't even budge.

"Jason," she spoke as calmly as she could, but even still there was a tremble of rage and fear in her voice that she didn't like. "I've been very patient with you up until this point. I have tolerated your treatment because I know that this is just your way of getting at Bruce. Or Dick. But I want you to leave. _Now_."

At first, she thought he might comply. He cocked his head to the side and appeared to be seriously contemplating her request. However, his next comment would hit her harder than a fist to her solar plexus.

"Aw, all I'm wantin' is a kiss, Princess." That low, dark purr that clicked open locks and ripped down barriers that she'd spent a lifetime erecting. "What's the harm in givin' me a kiss?"

A tear slithered down her cheek as she shook her head. His tone of voice, his choice of endearment, it all worked to drain away everything she was and left her as nothing more than the little girl she'd once been.

She felt her adult self slowly fading away.

Fading away into a memory she didn't want to remember, but which she could never forget. No matter how hard she tried, she just could not erase the night her father murdered her mother from her mind. The images came and caused more tears to leak from her eyes, course down her cheeks and drop onto the ground.

"Leave me alone," she moaned. "_Please_."

Neither the memory nor this man would let her be. No, they kept pushing at her, pressing in on her until the familiar dredges of panic and dread burned in her gut. His fingers slid around to the back of her neck and brought on a hideous wave of nausea.

"Aw, what'sa matter, Princess?" he whispered next to her ear. "Daddy not here ta back ya up?"

She swallowed the saliva that flooded her mouth and ordered herself to breathe. The air whistled in her lungs, clogged there until she was gulping for every breath she managed to take around the bands tightening around her chest. The pressure was making her head light, and she thought she was going to pass out, but she bore down, refused to give in. She'd already given Jason what he wanted by revealing her fear to him, she would not humiliate herself further by sinking into unconsciousness. Then the edges of her vision blurred and all she could see was her father's face staring back at her from Jason's.

The past came rushing up to grab hold of her then, tossing her helplessly back in time to a night she'd never forget for as long as she lived...

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing beyond that which is definitely my own (characters and plot). Everything else belongs to DC (sadly).

**A/N:** This is just a quick note to say that this story exists in its own verse (think Earth-1, Earth-2, etc).

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	2. Dark Realizations

**Berkeley Estate**

_Fourteen years ago._

"Where do you think you're going, Princess?"

The man whose face was inches from hers reached up to sweep her dark curls out of her face. It was only with an extreme effort that she repressed the shudder that his touch elicited. Then he reached out, and those slender fingers brushed her cheek.

She went cold to the marrow.

"Well, Princess?" he asked in a low, dark purr. "Don't you have an answer for daddy?"

She lifted wide, fearful eyes to his face. One of his cheeks had scratches from her where her mother's fingernails had scored the smooth flesh. Pinpricks of blood dotted his cheek and pooled by the corner of his mouth. A mouth that she knew was cruel when it smiled and which smiled when he was being cruel. Both his hair and eyes were the color of melted chocolate. He looked like a modern day James Bond in his evening black, tall and slim, darkly handsome. However, this man was nothing like the mythical hero all little girls believed their daddies to be.

Oh no, this man was a villain—of the same caliber as the ones who threatened to destroy all of Gotham with their greed and violence. Unlike them, though, this man hid his predatory nature behind a carefully crafted mask of polish and sophistication, beneath the vast wealth and social prestige that'd been granted him at the time of his birth. She thought about screaming for help, but there was nobody there who would come to her rescue. The servants were all huddling in their rooms and waiting for the monster to retreat to his wing of the mansion before they'd surface to help the little girl so in need of a hero to save her.

Fear bubbled in her throat, hot and bitter. It closed in the pit of her stomach, hard and cold. She opened her mouth, but what placating words she might have said froze when she saw _that _look in his eyes. That dead-eyed, predatory expression which told her he was just waiting for her to make a mistake.

She stood absolutely still.

She made no sound whatsoever.

She didn't dare too.

His lips curled into that cruel smile that Raya knew spelled trouble. Her heart pounded harder, faster. There were bands tightening around her head, around her chest. She struggled for control, for calm. If she wasn't careful, very, very careful, he'd kill her same as he'd killed her mother. Her eyes darted to the gun he still held and her fear escalated even more. Raya knew fear could be primitive, mindless, much like the fear that a gazelle felt when being pursued across the plains by a cheetah. Instinct, however, told her there was more danger inside this one man than in all the predators that lived in the African Savanna. And she knew that there was a time for playing the hero, a time for fear, a time for rolling the dice and taking your chances.

Even a nine-year-old could learn when to hold 'em, be taught when to walk away, and know when to run.

* * *

"You're so quiet," Jason taunted in a sing-songy voice. "What? The..." a pause was followed by a cruel smile. "_Bat _got your tongue?"

Raya heard him in her subconscious, felt the familiar stirrings of her anger and used it to rise above the fear choking her. Her eyes opened, but all she could see were her father's, those clear, empty pools just daring her to do something.

"C'mon, Princess…"

"Stop calling me that."

The ends of his lips lifted and he bent his head, stopping when his lips were an inch from hers. "Make me…" he paused, smirked. "_Princess_."

There was a snarl and a blur of white and a second later Jason was forcibly pushed away from Raya by Krypto, who faced him with his teeth barred and fur standing on end. Raya had never been happier to see either the superdog or the man who landed silently beside her. Jason, however, was clearly less than pleased to see Conner.

"So how many Knights in shining armor do ya got protecting ya, Princess?" he sneered. "And what's the price for such a privilege?" The insinuation in his tone had Conner's blood pump. "Maybe it's worth paying."

"You're not worthy of being one of her Knights," Conner replied in a quiet voice. "You'll never be good enough to be one of her protectors."

"Aw, and why's that, super freak?"

"Because we actually protect her is why." Another voice chimed in. Jason swung his gaze to the figure perched on the railing, his cape fluttering in the slight breeze. His lips curved into a sneer.

"I'm surprised the old man's letting ya outta the cave after the beating I gave ya… _Robin_."

The last was spoken nastily and carried a slippery undercurrent of promise. Hearing it snapped Raya back to who she was. She was Raya Kean, the _Fenix_, and _nobody_ spoke to _her_ Robin that way. Not even a former one.

"You leave him alone," she hissed. "Come after me if you need someone to vent your wrath upon. I can take it. I can take whatever you toss at me. But so help me God, Jason, if you make a move towards him..." her voice dropped an octave and something feral burned in her eyes, upon her face. "I'll hunt you down and I _will_ put you back in the ground."

Jason turned that dead-eyed, predatory expression of her father's upon her.

"So the Princess…."

"Stop calling me that!" The words were shouted in a voice that vibrated with every ounce of the emotions doing loopy-loops through her at that moment. "I'm not a princess!"

"Rich, spoiled, pampered br..."

A low, animalistic growl burst from Raya's lips a second before she launched herself at Jason, fingers curled into talons that she aimed at his smirking face. Conner moved to grab hold of her, same as Tim, but he stopped himself a second before his fingers could grasp hold of her arm. To touch her now, when she was in such a hypersensitive state, could be the straw that broke her completely. Not that it mattered. Krypto interceded with a low, plaintive whine, using his greater strength to push the snarling woman back towards Tim, who drew her against his side and shushed her by running his hand down her back and making soft, soothing murmurs.

It killed Conner to see her standing there, trembling now with helpless anger and fear, her face whiter even than Krypto's fur. He shot a black look at Jason, beyond pissed with the man for not seeing what he'd been putting her through with his antics. Jason merely folded his arms across his chest, all smug confidence and brash ego. Out of the corner of his eye, Conner saw Tim lower his head, and speak quietly into Raya's ear. He willfully tuned out what was being said as a matter of respect for their privacy. He then saw Raya give a slow, jerky nod of the head and figured she'd agreed to whatever he asked of her. Then Tim was looking at him, a quiet urgency in the depths of his blue eyes.

"Kon," he said quietly. "Get her out of here, _please_."

Conner didn't hesitate, just stepped towards her, brushing his fingers against her arm to let her know he was there and waiting for her assent before he touched her. When she turned towards him, reached for him, he curled an arm around her, held her tight.

"Krypto, stay with Robin," he instructed a second before he lifted up into the air.

...

As soon as Conner and Raya were out of sight, Tim rounded on Jason, his eyes flashing blue fire and his hands clenching into fists that he planted against his hips in order to keep from pummeling Jason. Oh, it was tempting to wipe that infernal smirk from his face. Physically attacking the older man would only serve to give him the physical release he'd been after. But that did not mean he was going to let him off the hook. Oh, no, Jason wasn't going to get away without getting a reprimand for what he'd done to Raya at least. He waited for his temper to cool before he spoke.

"Is it that you could not see what you were doing to her?" he asked him. "Or is it that you are so far gone that you just don't care about who you hurt?"

Krypto growled, long and low in his throat, adding an unnecessary- in Jason's opinion- exclamation point upon those forcibly uttered words. He shot a glare at the snarling white mutt but didn't dare make a move against him. He had a feeling he'd lose a valuable part of his anatomy if he did. So he contented himself by shooting a sneer at his replacement.

"Aw," he simpered. "Hearing the truth really musta sucked for the pampered princess, huh?"

Tim took a step towards him but somehow refrained from planting his fist into his stomach. He sent a slow, smug smile at the teen superhero, openly taunting him to do something. How Tim managed to keep from hitting him, Jason didn't know. Or understand. Clearly.

"You cannot see that you were psychologically torturing a woman for no reason other than so you could feel better about yourself, can you?" Tim shook his head, his face scrunched up in disgust. "God, you're more screwed up than we thought."

Jason scoffed and went to turn away. He didn't need the kid lecturing him about how fucked up he was. Nor did he need him busting his chops about what he said to the so-called Fenix. It wasn't like he was gonna apologize to the woman. Facts were facts in his mind. The fabulously wealthy Raya Kean was exactly what he thought she was: a pretty and pampered little kitten entertaining herself between lapses on her social calendar by play acting at being a crime fighter.

He paused, only for a second, and sneered over his shoulder, "Exactly what traumas could the princess have suffered, Timbo? What?" His voice dripped acidic honey. "Her daddy not buy her a new Mercedes for her birthday? Refused to get her a pony when she was a kid? Or did he take away her black AMEX card?"

"How about he murdered her mother right in front of her when she was nine?"

Whatever sarcastic quip Jason had been about to make came out as nothing more than a _ffff_ at Tim's soft proclamation. He half-turned to look back at him, studying that masked face silently and seeing a quiet fury intermixed with a dark sorrow. _Shit_. That thought was followed instantly by, _C'mon, kid, tell me you're joking. Please_. But the current acting Robin said nothing. He just continued staring at Jason as if he had grown horns and a tail. And Jason had the feeling he had.

"Ya ain't shittin' me," he stated in a soft voice, "are ya?"

"Do you honestly think that I'd lie about something like that, Jason?"

It wasn't a growl. No, Tim just sounded exhausted. The hell of it was that he knew that being a liar - outside of having to lie in order to protect his secret life as a crime fighter - wasn't one of Tim's character traits. If he was saying that the woman had watched her father kill her mother, well then she saw him do it. Again came his earlier thought of, _shit_. That was quickly followed by a dark, slippery voice whispering in his ear about how he was the "stupidest son of a bitch to ever walk God's green Earth."

Then came flashes of sight and sound. The final moments which preceded the superdog's intervention shot through his brain, and brought a clarity he'd been missing. The images superimposed themselves one after another across his visual field and each revealing what the red veil of hatred had been concealing from him. What he'd thought stood in front of him before had been a woman, cool and regal with her eyes blazing with the force of her ire. Yet, all he saw now was a hollow-eyed girl with tears streaming down a face white as a ghost. Where he'd imagined the quaking of her body to be her disgust for him, he realized they were tremors caused by her fear of him. Now the voice he heard was that of a little girl begging the big bad bully to "please leave" her "alone."

Jason felt the familiar stirrings of sorrow and regret, knew both were fed by the low boiling anger he only barely kept contained at best. But there was also a new emotion worming its way through him, one he'd never experienced before and had no way to define. It felt like icy claws were pumping something dark and desperate deep into the chambers of his crippled heart and soul and reanimating them.

Things long buried came roaring to life, flooding him with emotions that had been lying dormant since his resurrection. Guilt settled like a lead ball in the pit of his belly, and shame slapped away the last vestiges of his temper. Long buried hurts and resentment festered and oozed, reminding him about how he'd been in her shoes "once upon a time." Jason raked his fingers through his hair as the voices in his head all rose up to shout at him, reviling him for the cruel and vindictive bastard he'd sworn never to become.

"Doesn't feel so good now, does it?" one voice whispered in his ear. "You made her feel like shit in hopes it would make you feel better. And ya just feel worse, don'tcha?"

"Alfred would be disappointed to see how low you've sunk," said another.

"You're just like our pops, Jay," another voice that sounded suspiciously like his younger self, snarked. "Why don't ya just hit her next time? What he woulda done."

And the most damning voice of all, the one which sounded like Bruce whenever he was disappointed in him, demanded, "why did you attack the Fenix?"

_No_, he mentally corrected his absent mentor. _I didn't attack the Fenix. I attacked Raya Kean. I verbally assaulted her. I attacked a woman. Not a crime fighter._

And he didn't know why. Jason didn't have a logical explanation for why he'd gone after Raya in such a vindictive manner. There was no rhyme, no reason, no _excuse_ for his attack upon her. Even the lawless, heartless jades he encountered during his nightly searches of the bowels of Gotham he treated more respectfully than he had Raya.

Hell, he showed more kindness to that nutcase, Harley Quinn. Yet this woman, this _one_ woman, he'd maliciously and thoughtlessly ripped to pieces. And he couldn't understand why. It wasn't like she'd done anything more than ask him to get out of her home. He turned away so Tim couldn't see the flashes of regret, or the sea of uncertainty now filling him. He shoulda known better, though. He shoulda known that turning away would tip him off. The kid was Robin, after all.

_And a much better one than I ever was gonna be._

"Jason?" he heard Tim say softly.

"Yeah?" he mumbled.

"Are you... " he trailed off for a moment. "Are you okay?"

_Dumb question, kid._

Yet there was a wealth of uncertainty in the question. Almost as if the kid expected him to turn around and bust him in the chops. Even the mutt whined plaintively. As if he was offering him words of comfort and support.

_Just bite me in the balls already, pup_.

It's what he deserved after what he'd done.

"Yeah," is what he said out loud, however. "Yeah, I'm okay." _I'm only a nasty-tempered asshole who just raked a woman over hot coals in order ta get a rise outta the old man_. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" he asked right before he jumped over the balcony railing.

A second later Tim saw him swinging between lamp poles towards downtown Gotham. A sad, lonely, and confused man who chose to run away from his past rather than stand and face it. Krypto nuzzled his hand, whuffing softly.

"I don't get him either, Krypto," Tim told the superdog quietly. "I don't think he gets himself, quite honestly."

Krypto's reply was a low, near mournful sounding howl that Tim thought represented the heart and soul of the man known as the Red Hood.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, everyone! Hope the week has been good to you!

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	3. This is Conner Kent

Conner didn't let go of Raya. Even after they were a safe distance away from their apartment building he kept her in his arms. Intuitively, he knew being let go was the absolute last thing that she wanted or needed from him at that moment. No, what she needed was to be held tightly and securely. She needed him to make her feel safe and protected while her defenses were still in a shambles following her confrontation with Jason. _She needs to know I love her_.

Every one of those things was something he could do for her. They were things he had been doing for the last seven months, in fact. What he couldn't do, however, was steal her pain away. He couldn't lift away the quiet sorrow he saw rimming those eyes he loved staring into. He couldn't take away the legion of bad memories, block the multitude of dark thoughts or change the events of her past.

Because for all that he was the half-Kryptonian hero who was known to the world as _Superboy_, his other was also just plain old _Conner Kent_ .

And _Conner Kent_ did not have the meta-powers necessary to fix the woman trembling like a lone leaf caught in a hurricane. All he could do, the only thing he could do, was exactly what he was doing. Raya, as she often did, would assure him this was more than enough. And he, as he so frequently did, would vehemently disagree with her. Conner released a shuddering breath and buried his face against the curls that she had piled into a ponytail.

"You're all right," he crooned to her. "I've gotcha. He can't hurt you anymore."

"Jus-just don't let go," he felt her mouth against his throat. "Jus-just hold on-onto me for a litt-little while longer, ple-please?"

Hearing her voice throbbing with so much hurt, so much fear punched an invisible fist straight through his abdominal cavity. The sting of vulnerability, the sizzle of uncertainty and the blatant pain that echoed in every syllable ripped his soul to shreds.

"I've got no plans to let you go, baby," he assured her as he ran a hand slowly up and down her spine in an effort to comfort her. "I won't let you go until you tell me too, 'kay?"

"'Kay."

It barely came out as a whimper of sound. He held her just a bit tighter, ever mindful that he could literally crush her with his greater physical strength. He felt her hands creep beneath the hem of his t-shirt and jacket, felt those quick and clever fingers stroking over his flesh and sending curls of icy heat to pool in his belly. Her need to touch his bare skin during moments of emotional unrest had been something he had found initially strange and unusual until he had come to realize that it was the way she was connecting with _him._

Touching his bare skin centered her in the here and now. It was an intimate link that allowed her to work through whatever thoughts and memories might be tearing her apart inside by providing her with a firm reminder that there was someone real there who cared about her, who would be there to catch her if and when she fell. In the last few months, he had found she had a lot of little quirks like that. They were all part of the puzzle that made Raya who she was.

When she was in public, be it in her masked or civilian form, Raya always appeared confident, in complete control of herself and her emotions. He had heard many of Gotham's high society refer to her as an ice princess because of how composed she could be. No matter what the situation was, be it testifying in open court or handling a stream of noisy reporters, she responded to it with poise and sophistication. Even he had only seen her as someone capable of handling anything and everything life tossed at her when they first met. Then he learned how that was nothing more than the social mask she had created in order to keep the public from ascertaining her real, as well as her secret identity. There were three versions of Raya that she tended to switch between when she was out in public: Raya Kean, Fenix, and Special Agent Kean.

The real Raya, the one Dick affectionately called _Rae_, was one she reserved for when she was among those she trusted. That Raya was this adorably dorky, more than a tad bit shy, kinda awkward and more than a bit geeky little bookworm who was frequently uncomfortable in her own skin. And that was all okay with Conner. Hell, it was more than fine with him, in fact. He loved every inch of her. And he loved all of her individual personas.

Conner felt the last vestiges of the anger, hurt, and fear that had been awoken by Jason's vicious verbal attack roll through her like a wave undulating beneath his surfboard. However, there were smaller, more persistent shivers racking her frame that he didn't believe had anything to do with what Jason had done. He frowned as he puzzled out what was causing her to tremble so violently. Temperature meant little to him. Even arctic temperatures barely fazed him. Realization dawned as he realized it was like two degrees out and Raya wasn't wearing anything other than one of his t-shirts and a pair of thin cotton shorts. He snorted and shifted to seat her upon the wrought iron railing of a nearby fire escape.

"Wha-what are you do-doing?" She managed around the chattering of her teeth. "You sa-said-"

"Hush," he told her gently, but firmly. "I am only setting you down so I can wrap you in my jacket before you become a Fenix-cicle."

"I'm fi-fine, Con-Conner."

_Mule_... he thought with a faint bubble of amusement. _Always gotta put up a fuss when someone tries to take care of you_.

"If _fine_ equals turning into a chattering ice cube, then sure," he joked as he bundled her into his jacket. "You're fine."

She instantly tried to slide out of the coat, stammering, "Yo-you need-"

He shushed her with a kiss. "I'll be okay," he whispered against her lips. "So hush. And," he added when he saw the protest forming on her pale lips, "keep the jacket on. I don't need Batman flattening me because you refused to put a jacket on."

She gave in, but begrudgingly. "I really, really hate it when you do that," she grumbled.

He cocked his head to the side, one brow arched. "Do what?"

"Kiss me."

The ends of his lips twitched. "I thought you liked when I kiss you?"

"I do," she huffed. "I just can't think straight _after_ you do it."

He grinned now, couldn't help it. "Really now?" He leaned in to give her another kiss, but she turned her head at last second and it landed on her cheek instead. "Aw, c'mon, now," he teased. "Don't be mean."

"You know your kisses turn me into mush, Conner." She cocked him a look from beneath lowered lashes. "That's why I know that you time them sometimes."

"Oh?" He said in all innocence. "And why do you think I do that?"

"'Cause you know your kisses distract me from whatever I am thinking or planning." She poked him in the chest. "Admit it."

He let out a soft chuckle. "Okay, okay, ya got me. I do tend to kiss you whenever you are off on some particular tangent or planning on some sort of mischief that will only get one of your brothers in trouble." He brushed her hair from her face, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "But in my defense." He ignored her inelegant snort. "I've had to learn to use whatever weapon is in my arsenal when dealing with my often moody, frequently stubborn and reckless at times girlfriend."

She slid off the railing into his arms. "It's cheating and yanno it, Conner."

"It worked to distract you from what happened tonight, didn't it?"

She nuzzled her head against his shoulder. "Yeah," she admitted with a small sigh. "I gotta admit it did help distract me from what happened with Jason."

"Wanna tell me about what happened now?"

"That's the problem, Conner," she said in one long breath. "I don't honestly know what the hell happened back there." She angled her head back in order to look at him. "It started off as a normal argument..." she trailed off into a sigh. "Then it was like something…" A pause was punctuated by a frown. "I dunno. It was like something _broke _inside him."

That made sense to Conner. Given what Jason had been through - death, resurrection and being soaked in a bathtub with the fanatical Ra's al Ghul, it was easy to understand just why the guy was wound a bit too tight. However, that didn't excuse what the man had done to her. _Nothing_ would ever excuse what the man had done to Raya.

"Jason Todd has always been a loose cannon," he pointed out gently. "Even when he was Robin, he tended to have a problem with curtailing his anger and volatility. It made him just as unpredictable and uncontrollable then as it does now."

"He's been hurt..." she began but Conner cut her off.

"He tends to lash out at everybody, babe."

"I know," she breathed out on a sigh. "But Conner..." she lifted her eyes to his. In the shadows that surrounded them, her eyes glowed. Deeply green, deeply sad. "I think this was Jason finally unloading some of the things he has kept locked inside him for all these years at someone."

"Why unload on you, though? You had nothing to do with what happened to him. You weren't even in Gotham at the time."

"But I was part of what happened to him," she countered. "I am one of the people who failed him. In fact," she said, grimacing. "I am the one who most failed him when it comes right down to it."

"What do you mean that you failed him the most?" He kept his tone light, curtailing the rush of impatience and annoyance because she didn't need him hammering at her. Not at that moment. "How did you fail him?"

He had a suspicious feeling that even as he asked that question that he already knew the answer.

"It's my job as the Fenix to bring Robin home." She looked away, but not before Conner saw the guilt that swirled into her eyes, flickered upon her face. "And I didn't do that. I did not bring Robin home from that warehouse. I did not rally the troops as I am supposed to do when one of us is in perilous danger."

"Ray-"

"I wasn't there when he needed me to be, Conner. And because I wasn't, the Joker finally lived up to his promise. He finally managed to kill a Robin."

"Baby, you weren't even in Gotham when all this was going on."

"Exactly." She nodded. "That's why I failed him. I wasn't here. Where I should have been."

Conner struggled for calm and reason. "No, baby," he told her softly. "You didn't fail him."

"Con-"

"Raya, you never failed Jason Todd. The truth is that Jason failed himself when he didn't heed Bruce's orders and wait until they could investigate that warehouse together. Jason got himself killed because he was impetuous and reckless."

"Conner, we all failed Jason Todd in some way. Dick and I by not being there for him as the siblings he needed, Bruce for not being the father he needed, and his _mother_..." She spat the final word contemptuously. "Well, his so-called mother failed him most of all by selling him out to that pasty-faced son of a bitch."

"None of that excuses what he did to _you_," he pointed out as gently as he could. "He viciously and without any reason attacked _you _tonight. And there is not one good reason whatsoever that you can give me that will justify why he did."

"Conner..." she began, but he interrupted before she could even launch into the _but_ he heard.

"Baby, I know you are trying to understand Jason, to figure him out so you can help fix him, and so that you can bring him home as Bruce would like. But what you gotta finally understand and accept is that there's just no logical explanation for why someone acts like an asshole. They just are one."

"He just wants someone to tell him _why_, Conner."

Conner rest his cheek against the top of her hair. "Why what?"

"Why we let it happen." She stroked her fingers along his spine. "Why we weren't there to stop the Joker. Why we forgot about him. Why we replaced him with Tim."

"Is that how it started? He wanted to know why?"

"No." She tucked her head under his chin with a small, content sigh. "That didn't come until later."

"What happened first?"

"Well, I woke up and found that he was there in the bed next to me."

Conner stiffened at hearing _that_ particular piece of information. "Excuse me?" He growled. "He was where?"

"He's my younger brother, Conner."

"If he was Tim it would be fine," he retorted. "Or even Dick. I trust both of them."

"You can trust he wasn't there to put any sort of moves on me."

He looked down at her. "What was he doing if not putting moves on you?"

Raya smiled at the anger that sizzled in his voice. "He was just sitting there watching _Comedy Central_ while eating some of the pizza we had leftover from the other night. It was more like a... game at that moment to him."

"When did things get ugly?"

"Right after I told him that he could take his ass to the cave and punch Bruce in the face if he wanted a fight with him so damn badly."

If not for the fact that he'd hopped in bed with his girlfriend, Conner _might_ have found the guy's ballsiness amusing. As it was...

"Asshole was in bed with my girl."

"Your girl." She scoffed. "Gimme a break, kryptonite for brains."

"You are my girl," he told her in mock seriousness. "Which is why if he ever hops into bed with you again, I'm going to have to throw him in the Pacific Ocean."

He felt more than heard her laugh. "How about you just take me to yours and Tim's place?"

His eyebrows shot up. "You don't want to go back to our apartment?"

She shook her head and the vanilla scent of her shampoo wafted up to tickle his nose and tingle along his senses. "I can't sleep in the apartment, Conner. Not tonight. And not," she added with a sigh, "alone."

He stroked a hand over the cap of that silky hair and told himself he could understand why she did not want to return home at that moment. Still...

"You realize that if we go to mine and Tim's place that you won't get to sleep in my arms."

"And why won't I?"

"Uh, you do remember that Tim is staying with me this weekend because his father is out of town on business?"

"And?" She lifted her shoulders in the semblance of a shrug. "I don't see the problem."

"How about he doesn't know about us?"

She made a face. "I think it's time we tell him, Conner. We've been seeing each other for over seven months now. Pretty clear where things are between us."

"That Tim hasn't managed to figure out that we have been seeing each other has me more than a little amazed," he admitted with a small smile. "I really figured he'd have caught on by now. Especially since I spend so much of my time in Gotham with you."

"Me too," she admitted with a smile. "Especially since Bruce knows about us and has known for quite a while apparently."

"Wait," Conner sputtered. "Bruce _knows_ we've been seeing each other?" He saw her nod. "How? We've been so careful!"

She smirked. "Bat-Daddy knows _everything_, honey."

Conner felt as if he'd been punched in the chest by Superman. "_Everything_?" he croaked.

"_Everything_."

Conner groaned, imagining the massive ass kicking that awaited him the next time he met Batman face-to-face. "Well, unlike Batman," he grumbled, "Tim won't shoot me full of Kryptonite before he pounds me into the dirt."

"It won't be that bad," Raya assured him. Then she added, her tone slightly mischievous, "I mean, it's not like you're dating the Police Commissioner's niece here or anything..."

Conner just groaned.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, everyone! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the fav/follow buttons.


	4. The Enemy

The hand that reached for the phone perched on the corner of a gleaming desk was plump and tanned a burnished hue. Against the dark tone of the wood, his skin appeared to be the color of honey. At his wrist, navy striped cuffs were studded with oval sapphires that burned in the pale light from the single lamp. His nails were buffed to a dull sheen and neatly clipped. The receiver of the phone was black, sleek, and hinting at the same mysterious nature as the man who reached for it. Blunt fingers curled around the handle, five elegantly manicured digits, the pinky of which was adorned with a diamond the size of a robin's egg.

"Berkeley."

...

The voice was smoky and dark, like a single-malt whiskey that had been aged to perfection. Hearing it, Floyd Lawton felt the ends of his long lips curl into a sneer. He took a drink from his water bottle to still the disgust and faint swirls of guilt that had been doing flip-flops in his gut ever since he had first been hired by this man. As he waited for the nausea to pass, he contemplated exactly what to say to the one time Gotham playboy. Berkeley had the very misguided opinion that he was his boss simply because he was offering him a boatload of money for this special little job of his. All Matthew Berkeley Jr. really was in Lawton's mind was a cold-hearted bastard with way too much time and money on his hands, a vicious temper and an empty place in his chest cavity where his heart _should_ have been.

In fact, he mused as he took another sip of water, Matthew Berkeley Jr. made a low-life bastard like Lex Luthor look like a saint.

And in Floyd Lawton's mind? That was saying something.

The only reason he had even taken this gig was because Berkeley was offering him twice his standard fee, plus ten thousand. Even so, there was a part of him, a deep and dark part of him he did his best to keep separate from his professional side that wanted to tell the man to take his money and shove it as far up his ass as he could. There were few things that a man like him found appalling. There were even fewer things that he wasn't willing to do for copious amounts of money. There were few jobs he had ever found to be so distasteful that he had refused to take them.

Over the course of his long and storied career, he had done many unsavory things, none that he regretted since he figured that those people deserved what they got. He had even killed people he knew were good and decent and kind. He had even killed people who he hadn't believed really _deserved_ to die. This job, though? It was quickly becoming one of those jobs that he was seriously regretting having taken. Why? Mostly it was because of the damn twinges of the conscience he had thought he had slaughtered years ago.

This man's desire to see his daughter- the de facto heir to his throne and vast empire- killed was one of the few things Lawton found to be truly sickening. As a father, and of a daughter at that, he couldn't understand the man's hatred for the girl. Sure, having his daughter running around with Batman and his bunch wouldn't please him any, but it wasn't something he would want to have her killed for. Nor did he understand why her being a girl was such a problem. Having a boy or girl made no difference in his mind. Your kid was your kid and you should love 'em no matter what or who they were.

Matthew Berkeley clearly didn't hold with that particular philosophy. He had this backward notion that a child's worth was based solely upon its gender. While it was true that boys were the ones who commonly carried on the family name and would see the bloodline carried into another generation through the children they would have, it did not mean that girl's had any less significant role to play. A family line could through girls as much as boys. Girls were just as capable of running their father's vast empires. Talia al Ghul was a prime example of that. So was Sofia Falcone Gigante. That Berkeley couldn't see that made him an idiot in Floyd Lawton's mind.

Course, he thought the man was an idiot for more reasons than just this particular one. Raya Kean-she had dropped the Berkeley name when she had been ten he had learned- was already leaps and bounds ahead of most others her age. She was twenty-three, a Special Agent for the GCPD, had been among the top of her graduating class at Gotham Prep, was in the top percentile at Gotham University, active in dozens of organizations and charities, and well on her way to becoming a Doctor of Psychology.

If she was _his_ daughter, he'd be one right proud papa. Hell, he could only hope his own kid turned out half as well as Berkeley's had. Not that Berkeley had actually had much of a hand in Agent Kean's upbringing following his wife's murder. _And that_? he mused as he settled back in his chair. _That is why he actually hates the girl_. It had been Bruce Wayne and Commissioner Gordon who had raised the girl following her mother's death. They were who installed the values and principles that Berkeley didn't find important. They were who taught her that her worth went beyond marriage and babies.

They'd also taught her how, to tell the _truth_.

And the _truth_ about Berkeley's dealings in the underbelly of Gotham's society was the very last thing that the man wanted the little chit spilling.

_Any more than he wants her telling the world about who really murdered her mom, _he thought as he capped the bottle and set it beside him.

"I couldn't get a shot off," he finally told the man in a rasp. "There was an unexpected variable that got in the way before I could get the shot off."

The _variable_ was named the Red Hood. Sure, Lawton knew he coulda just plugged the red masked vigilante right along with the girl. He had had plenty of opportunities to do so while the two had been arguing on the apartment balcony. However, he wasn't being _paid_ to kill the Red Hood. And if there was one thing that Floyd Lawton absolutely didn't do? It was killing anyone for _free_. Least of all when that other person was someone he felt was deeply connected to the Batman.

Stonecold silence was the response from the man on the other end of the phone.

...

Matthew Berkeley Jr. knew silence was a more useful intimidation tactic than about a hundred other types of threats he could hurl at the man on the other end of the phone. He suspected it would have about as much effect as a water hose on cutting through concrete, in fact. He let the silence echo for five seconds, ten. Then he finally spoke.

"I see." He took a puff from his cigar, held the smoke in for a few seconds, and then released it slowly, watching as it lazily curled towards the ceiling. "And how many times does this mark that you have been unable to kill my daughter?"

"It's the fifth time," came the sullen reply.

"The fifth time," Berkeley mused. "For a man of your skill and reputation, this inability to kill one small, slip of a girl is," he paused. Knew the man's teeth gnashed at the veiled insult and smiled. "Well, I must say that it is extremely disappointing. Just how do you intend to make up for your inability to fulfill your part of our bargain, Mr. Lawton?"

"I assure you that I will fulfill my part of our bargain," was Lawton's growled reply. "It is just going to take me longer than I anticipated. You did not tell me that she is always in the company of either one of Batman's protégés or lives with that hybrid freak."

"My whore of a daughter is always in the company of one of Batman's winged brats," Berkeley muttered. "As for the super-freak..." he trailed off, took another puff of his cigar. "Well, now that's something I did not know about. You are certain she is living with the cloned whelp?"

"Yes. I have the pictures to prove it."

Berkeley turned his chair, silently pensive. Through the window, he could see the first streaks of color announcing dawn, the pale burn across the sky. It reminded him of blood. _Ellen's blood_, he recalled. It had spilled across the marble in much the same way, pooling in one huge, dark puddle beneath her lifeless body before slowly spreading out to encompass the majority of the tiled floor. Berkeley rubbed the tips of his fingers over the ridged flesh by his eye as his anger began to churn. There was only one solution to be had here, he realized as he stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray. In Berkeley's mind, it was the most logical of solutions. How Lawton would take the news was a different matter, though.

"It would seem, Mr. Lawton, that we have a problem on our hands."

"Do we now?"

"Oh, yes," Berkeley crooned in a deep baritone. "We do. A rather unfortunate one, in fact."

"And what problem do _we_ have?" Lawton asked. "And how do you want _me_ to rectify it?"

"Why, now, that's easy." A smirk twisted one side of Berkeley's mouth. "I want you to kill the meta-freak."

Lawton was silent for all of twenty seconds. Then he barked a laugh. "You realize that you want me to kill a kid who has Superman's DNA in him, right?"

"Yes."

"I don't have bullets designed to kill a Kryptonian."

"You will," Berkeley assured him in a slippery purr. "Now, I have a few phone calls to make, a few…. _markers _to call in. While I am procuring what you will need, please do me the favor of making sure to keep an eye on my daughter and her alien lover. I've already paid you a lot of money, and will be paying you quite a lot more once the job is done." He paused again for effect. "You wouldn't want me to start thinking that I have made a bad… _investment_, would you?"

"Of course not, Mr. Berkeley," Lawton replied in an equally soft, and dangerous tone. However, instead of being intimidated, Berkeley made a noise that said he found his threats to be utterly amusing. "Am I under orders to still kill your daughter should the opportunity present itself? Or am I to wait and kill her and her boyfriend at the same time?"

Killing his daughter would destroy Batman and that rat bastard, Jim Gordon. Killing his daughter and that abomination? Why that would tear apart Batman, Gordon, the winged brats and that idiot, Superman all in one go.

"Why, yes, Mr. Lawton. That is exactly what I want you to do," he cooed. "I want you to kill my daughter at the same time that you kill that inferior creation she's sleeping with."

"Fine," Lawton hissed. "But it'll cost you triple what you're already paying me, plus twenty thousand."

"Done."

There was a _click_ and then silence.

Not that it mattered.

He was already reaching for the ledger - the little red one that contained the name of every man and woman who owed him a favor. There was only one man he could think of who had the clout and ability to procure the very item he was in need of, Roman Sionis. He dialed the number and put the phone to his ear.

It rang three times.

"Roman," Berkeley said before the other man even had a chance to say hello. "How would you like to help me bring Batman and Superman to their knees?"

He heard a low sound, almost like a _hmm_. Then Sionis purred in a dark rasp, "What is it that have you in mind, Berkeley?"

Berkeley just smiled as he explained his plan.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, everyone! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the fav/follow buttons.


	5. Bloodstained Hands

_He_ always came late in the night, when her mind was at its most vulnerable and her control at its very lowest. By day, she could deny, simply shut her mind off, willfully ignore or otherwise guard herself against the murky figure who stalked her as she slept. Sleep, as she well knew, had a power all its own. Even the strongest of minds just was not capable of avoiding the purveyor of the realm of nightmares.

Not for long, at least.

Raya was quite familiar with the personification of nightmares and dreams. She'd only been chased by Phobetor for the past twenty-one years of her life. Normally, at times of great duress, she would toss herself into a case in order to exhaust her mind to such a point that the dream weaver couldn't come. However, Alfred would not hear of her becoming anymore like Bruce and Dick than she already was. So it came as no surprise when Phobetor came to her, his smoke-colored eyes as hard and cold as the man who'd she'd run away from. His vaporous laugh was still just as cruel. Helpless, Raya could do nothing as the cruel god again forced her to relive the moment where her life had been changed forever...

**...**

**Berkeley Estate**

_Fourteen Years Ago_.

The first shot wasn't fatal, so Ellen Rae Kean-Berkeley slowly turned from her attacker, trying to make for the grand staircase and the safety of her suite of rooms in the mansion's east wing. Raya watched from the upstairs landing as the monster lifted up his arm, saw the glint off the cold metal of the gun he held in one hand. She heard a scream she did not recognize as her own, then the crack of gunfire. For a brief second, she thought she could feel the fiery rip of the bullet as it tore into her mother's frail body.

The force of the impact spun Ellen Rae completely around. There was another shot and her mother was falling, collapsing upon the small table in the middle of the entryway, upsetting the vase of roses -always red roses - so that they rained down upon her as she fell. With everything she had left, her mother crawled towards the stairs, towards the sanctuary of her bedroom in the mansion's east wing, a bloody trail in her wake the only evidence of the violence that had been perpetrated on this night.

Raya flew down the stairs and dropped to her knees beside the broken, battered figure with a tiny whimper. Her child-sized hands slid over her mother's abraded flesh, treating it like the most fragile of porcelain. Just a flutter of gently probing fingers that glided over the fractured skin, searching and seeking out the worst of the damage. Again her mother tried to move, to push and pull her ravaged body towards the stairs. But Raya pushed her back down, murmured soothing, nonsensical words to her as she tried to figure out what to do.

Hands fisted then, much like the talons of a hawk, in the soft material of her thin cotton t-shirt, tugged with what little strength remained inside her mother's frail body. Raya leaned down in time to hear her mother breathe out one word.

"_Run_..."

Then her mother slid beneath the comforting, dark blanket of unconsciousness. Raya gently cradled her head in her lap, in hopes that it would reassure her, bring her some small amount of comfort and solace. She angled her head to look at the holes in her chest, blackened around the edges, still seeping blood. Her mother's eyes were closed, her face drained of all color except for the thin line of blood that trickled from the corner of her mouth.

She would live, all the rest of her life she would live with this image of her mother—bleeding and broken at the bottom of the grand staircase as the man who had done this circled them like a vulture waiting to peck at their carcasses. Even though fear gnawed at her, caused her heart to beat a hard tattoo against her ribcage, she managed to ignore the shadow threatening to consume her and reached to check the pulse in her mother's throat. It was weak, thready. Her mother was breathing, but it was a raspy gurgle at best.

"Hold on, Mama," she whispered, leaning close to her ear. "_Please_ hold on. Papa will be here soon. He will make you better."

Her mother's eyes fluttered open, and Raya saw they were glassy with pain.

"Raya..." her mother's voice was barely more than a thick whisper. "Is…too late, baby. Is…too late."

"No." Tears blurred her vision, fell unchecked down ashen cheeks. Anger invaded her soul, mixed with the weak salt of her grief and the white-hot blaze of her hatred. "Mama, no, it's not. It's not too late. Just hold on." Her lower lip quivered. Then she whimpered, "_Please_, hold on, Mama."

"Sorry... baby..." Her mother shuddered in her arms. "So sorry…"

Desperation surged inside the eight-year-old. She prayed as she'd never prayed before, pleading with every deity she could think of. _She can't die. Please, she can't die. _But it was too late. Raya had never seen death up close and personal, but she was able to recognize its cold cruelty. She knew death was imminent by the hoarse clatter of her mother's breath, by the way, that her pupils slowly fixed and dilated, and then by the way that she went limp in her arms. She thought she heard the breathing of one last, solitary word: "Run…"

And then her mother was gone. Raya stared at the lifeless body in her arms.

"No," she whimpered. Then, louder, "No!"

Too late. She was too late. She laid her mother down gently, buried her face in her hands, unable to look at the face that she'd loved, not willing to believe, to accept her mother was really gone. She was gone and there was nothing left of her but this still-warm, lifeless shell that suddenly wasn't her mother at all. Mind spinning, heart aching, stomach heaving, she pushed to her feet and slowly turned towards the stairs.

_Run,_ her mother had said. _Run_ because the monster was going to come after her now. Run because she was not yet ten-years-old and nowhere near strong enough to fight this man on her own. _Run_ because only one man in all of Gotham could stand between her and him: _Batman_. She had only managed to go up the first two steps when a hand clamped over her arm, held her fast.

"Where do you think you're going, Princess?"

The man whose face was inches from hers reached up to gently brush her dark curls from her face. It was only with an extreme effort that she didn't empty the contents of her stomach all over his polished wingtips. Then he turned his wrist and those slender fingers brushed across her cheek in what was supposed to pass for a loving caress.

Raya went cold to the marrow of her being.

"Well, Princess?" he questioned in that low, dark purr that said _and don't lie to me_. Then he added, "Don't you have an answer for Daddy?"

She'd never wanted her uncle Jim to come more than at that very moment. Fervently, she prayed for him to come striding through those huge oak doors and rescue her from this man who called himself her _daddy_. However, Uncle Jim didn't come to her aide. Not this time. He couldn't since she hadn't called him to let him know she was in distress. She was all alone with this madman who'd hurt her if she wasn't careful. Raya lifted wide, fearful eyes to her father's face.

One of his cheeks had scratches from where her mother's fingernails had scoured the smooth flesh. Pinpricks of blood dotted his cheek and pooled by the corner of his mouth. A mouth that she knew was cruel when it smiled and which smiled when he was being cruel. Both his hair and eyes were the color of melted chocolate. He looked like a modern day James Bond in his exquisitely tailored tuxedo, tall and slim, darkly handsome. However, this man was nothing like the mythical hero all little girls believed their daddies to be.

Oh no, this man was a villain—moderately less violent than the Joker, more sadistic than the Penguin and just as insane as both. Unlike either villain, though, he hid his predatory nature behind a carefully crafted mask of polish and sophistication, beneath the vast wealth and social prestige that'd been granted him at the time of his birth. She thought about screaming for help, but there was nobody there who would come to her rescue. The servants were all huddling in their rooms and waiting for the monster to retreat to his wing of the mansion before they'd surface to help the little girl so in need of a hero to save her.

Fear bubbled in her throat, hot and bitter. It closed in the pit of her stomach, hard and cold. She opened her mouth, but what placating words she might have said, froze when she saw that _that_ look was in his eyes. That dead-eyed, predatory expression that told her he was just waiting for her to make a mistake.

Raya stood as still as a Grecian statue.

She made absolutely no sound whatsoever.

She knew she didn't dare if she had hopes of leaving this house _alive_.

His lips curled into that smile that Raya knew spelled trouble. Her heart pounded harder, faster. There were bands tightening around her head, around her chest. She struggled for control, for calm. If she wasn't careful, very, very careful, he'd kill her same as he'd killed her mother. Her eyes darted to the gun he still held and her fear escalated even more. She could smell it, that stench which she associated with terror. Raya knew fear could be primitive, mindless, much like the fear that a gazelle felt when being pursued across the plains by a cheetah. Instinct, however, told her there was more danger inside this one man than in all the predators that lived in the African Savanna. And she knew that there was a time for playing the hero, a time for giving into fear, a time for rolling the dice and taking your chances.

Even a nine-year-old could be taught when to hold 'em, be told when to walk away, and know when to run.

"Raya," he rumbled in that tone which told her his patience was wearing thin. "I'm only going to ask you this one more time. Where do you think you are going?"

"My room." The lie came so easily, so swiftly, it disgusted her. She hated lies, hated the hurt they could cause and the destruction they wrought. But because the lie had come so easily, and because it carried a ring of truth with it, she went with it. He simply stared at her, seeing the fear in her eyes and none of the hatred that was beneath. He yanked her to him so hard that her breath expelled on a quick hitching gasp.

"Why?"

"Why?" She blinked. "Why what?"

"Why are you going to your bedroom?"

She spoke without thinking—anger and grief and fear loosening her tongue and making her reckless. "'Cause it's my room."

"Watch your tone, Princess." He fingered the ends of her hair, causing her stomach to twist into knots. "I'm going to forgive you this one time for your lapse of judgment because I understand you are in shock, and that you're grieving for the tragic death of your mother." Those fingers tightened, jerking her head back and making her cry out. "But I will not tolerate any backtalk. You understand me?"

"You're nothing but a bully." She winced at the pain and struggled to keep calm. "A mean, nasty..." she cried out when he slapped her across the face. Hard enough to elicit a gasp and have tears spring to her eyes. The shock of it caused her lower lip to tremble. She exerted what little energy she had to stop it. Showing him any sort of weakness at that moment would be a costly mistake. He'd never struck her before tonight. So long as he had her mother to smack around there'd been no need. It was a clear sign of how things would be from now on between them.

"I have already told you to watch your mouth, Raya. I do not like repeating myself."

Raya stood there staring at this man who was supposed to protect and shelter her, to love and adore her because she was his "little princess." All she found herself wondering in that moment was about what she'd done to deserve this man as her father. It couldn't be because she wasn't "good enough." Uncle Jim loved and adored her. He wanted to adopt her, to give her a home and the things he claimed that all kids deserved. So why didn't this man want her? What had she'd done that was so despicable that her own father hated her as he did?

Why wasn't she good enough just as she was?

The shock of the smack, coupled with the grief of her mother's death and his disinterest, his hatred and continued rejection of her caused something dark and dangerous to snap to life inside Raya. With a burst of pure fury, she attacked him, beating him with her tiny fists and kicking at his shins with her bare feet until he let her go with a curse. Then she did the only thing she could think to do.

She ran…

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, all! Hope the week has been a good one!

Please, if you like this story, follow/favorite it! And a big thank you to everyone who has been following along with me on this journey! Your reviews and your silent support all mean the world to me!


	6. Her Kryptonian Protector

There was a scream - almost animalistic in its depth and intensity- ripping through her head as she shot straight up in bed with a strangled gasp. It wasn't her own scream she heard, though, oh no. She knew it wasn't her own scream. It was her father that she heard, howling with pure, unmasked _pain _and _rage_. With her breath sobbing in her throat and her heart hammering so hard against her ribcage that she feared it would explode from her chest, Raya scrambled out of bed, dragging the blankets and whatever animals had unwittingly claimed a spot in the soft ticking, with her. She ran to the bedroom door and tore it open with nerveless fingers, heedless of the loud _bang_! it caused as it slammed against the bedroom wall.

She raced out of the room, trembling with terror and a bone-deep chill. She fled down the hallway that was really the circular drive that lined the estate's expansive grounds, imagining her father chasing after her much as he had chased after her all those years ago. For a moment, just one, she swore she felt her father's fingers stroke across the sensitive flesh along the back of her neck. She swore she felt his long, elegant fingers become tangled in the strands of her wildly curling hair a second before he yanked on the silken strands, cruelly.

She stifled a shriek as she darted out of his reach, nearly tripping over the trailing ends of the blanket she held around her like a shield. Her chattering teeth sounded so loud in the quiet confines of the small hallway that she was surprised Krypto didn't come to investigate the sound. She was even more shocked how the man who was asleep on the huge sectional in the front room while an episode of _M.A.S.H_ played on the television didn't jump up as soon as she came screaming out of the bedroom.

"You can't run from me, Princess," she heard her father wheezing from behind her. "You can't hide from me. I will always find you. And when I do..."

He let the threat hang. It was another of his control tactics. One of his more favorite ones because of how effective it was at terrorizing his chosen victim. Raya swallowed back a sob as she made her way into the living room. Instinct had brought her to the one man, the _only_ man she wanted to make her feel safe and secure at that moment. Conner sprang out of a sound sleep less than a second later to find his arms were full of trembling, weeping woman.

"The hell...?" He muttered groggily even as Raya's scent, jasmine, and vanilla intermixed with the scent of overwrought nerves wafted up to tickle his nostrils, awakened his senses. "Babe? What is it? What's wrong?"

Raya curled against him and whimpered, "Ju-just hold me, Conner. Pl-please."

Conner angled his head in order to look at her. He could easily make Raya out in the early predawn light, but even if he'd not been able to, he would have known her by her scent, her shape, by the feel of her stretched out atop him.

"What is it? Did something happen?" He shifted her to the side so he could sit up. Nails scraped the floor and he saw Krypto sitting up, ears perked forward and his chocolate eyes alert and watchful. "Did something happen to Tim...?"

"No-no. Ti-Tim is fi-fine." She coiled around him like a snake. "Please, just ho-hold me. Do-don't," she entreated in a small voice, "do-don't let me go. Ju-just hold me. Ple-_please_, just ho-hold me."

"Jesus, babe, you're like an icicle."

He folded her into his arms, trying to impart some of his warmth to her, trying to find his scattered wits and soothe her fragmented nerves. There was only one other person, besides her father, who could rattle her quite this much. Far as he knew, though, the Joker was safely locked away in Arkham and had no access to phone or computer. That only left one other possible suspect...

"Did Jason call you?" He angled his head to look at her. Her eyes were huge green orbs inside her pale face. "Damn it!" He snarled. "Did he send you a text message? An E-mail? I swear I am gonna beat the ever loving shit outta him for..."

"No, no, no." She burrowed into him, tried to stem the tidal wave of emotions still rocketing through her so she could quiet the anger flowing through him. "It wasn't Jason. It wasn't," she insisted when she felt his fists clench against her back. "It was the dream. I had the dream again."

A bit of his tension eased at her words, but not by much. Her dream-_no_, he instantly corrected. This was not a _dream_. This was much more than a simple dream. This was a memory that was much more devastating than any simple _dream_ ever could be.

"You dreamed about the night your dad murdered your mom?"

"Yes." She sniffled and Conner felt something warm and wet roll down his shoulder. His heart bled for the pain Raya was in. However, there was nothing, beyond what he was doing, that he could do that would take away the sorrow and heartache buried deep inside her.

"Talk to me, baby." He stroked her back in slow, soothing circles. "Get it all out."

"I don't know why I cannot make myself forget what my father did. No matter how hard I try, I just cannot make myself forget about what happened. I keep asking myself about what I could have done differently, about how I could have stopped him..."

"Stop it. Stop it now." He stroked his hand over the cap of her hair, the long line of her back. "Raya, baby, there's nothing _you_ could have done to have changed what happened that night. You were just a kid for chrissakes."

"I know, Conner," she whispered the words against his throat. "I know I was just a kid. But..."

"No, no _buts_," he interjected, his tone firm. "You were barely _nine_. _Nine_. There's no way in hell that you could have stopped what happened."

"I'm the one who was supposed to be protecting her."

"_You_ weren't the one who should have been protecting your mom."

He didn't add _because your mom was supposed to be the one protecting you_. It wasn't necessary to remind her of how she had been the mother rather than the child. She already knew those things.

"_Please_, just hold me." Her head lifted, and her breath came wheezing out from between her teeth. "I'm so cold right now, Conner."

"I know you are, baby, I know." He gently thumbed away the moisture staining her cheeks. He then wrapped her more tightly in the blanket and pulled her close. "Have you ever talked to anybody about your dream? Somebody professionally, I mean?"

"You mean a therapist?"

"Yeah."

"Bruce and Uncle Jim had me see one right after my mom was murdered. They and the courts insisted upon it." Her breath billowed across his throat, stirred his blood. "I stopped going after the first session, though."

"Why did you only attend one session?" Then after he thought about it some he added, "Why did they let you get away with only going to one session?"

"Why do you think, meathead?"

"Crane." Conner grimaced as the answer came to him. "He's the shrink you saw."

She tucked her head beneath his chin, breathing out a, "Yes," on a tiny sigh. "I liked Crane. I did. He was quiet and refined and very understanding of my particular phobias and dysfunctions. I felt like I could speak with him and tell him the truth about what happened."

"But?"

Damn he hated that word. There was never anything good that followed it.

"But I knew something was not right after our session ended. He seemed almost too... _eager_ to have me as a patient. Even at nine, I knew he wasn't..." she paused; considered. "Well, _sane_."

"Considering Crane is a certifiable lunatic with a long list of his own phobias and dysfunctions," Conner drawled. "I can see how you figured out he was nutso."

"Crane _is_ a good Psychologist," she informed him gently. "No matter what sort of fiend he's allowed himself to become, it does not take away from the fact that Jonathan Crane is still a skilled Psychologist."

"Yeah, that's because when the Scarecrow is not in control, Jonathan Crane is a much different man."

"Yes, and he's actually a good doctor during those moments of lucidity."

"They are just infrequent moments."

Her sigh blew across his moist flesh. "Sadly."

Conner was silent a moment before asking, "What I don't understand is why you've never seen anybody else? You of all people know that you can't keep things like this locked up inside. How you've even managed to keep it together for all these years is beyond me..."

"The only person I have ever been able to tell the complete truth about what happened the first years of my life," she said on a shuddering breath chalk full of regret, "is you. And," she added after a small pause, "it took you pushing me into admitting that I loved you before I was finally able to work up the courage to even be able to share the truth with _you_."

It had been the condition she had set for agreeing to become his girlfriend. She had told him that if after she showed him the parts of her that weren't all that pretty that he still wanted to be with her, she'd say yes. Seven months, one week and three days later and he still wanted to be with her. He had vowed to take care of her, to protect her, to help her finally heal from all the traumas she had endured at her father's hands. He still was doing everything in his power to fix each and every one of those parts inside her that were broken. He turned his head and rest his lips against her brow.

"I understand why you've never talked with Dick or Tim about what happened, but why have you never talked with Bruce or your uncle about what happened?"

"Uncle Jim would only have blamed himself for not interceding sooner and Bruce has enough demons," came the response he'd expected to hear. "I won't add mine to his pile."

"I can't imagine Bruce's accepted your reasoning for why you won't tell him about what happened happily." He rubbed her back, her hip. Jesus, would she ever feel warm to him again? "Bruce doesn't remind me of someone who would willingly accept_ I-don't-want-to-tell-you-about-this-because-you-have-enough-demons-of-your-own_ as a reason for why you wouldn't tell him the truth."

He felt her lips twitch against his throat. "I told him that I didn't remember everything that happened that night. Said that I had psychogenic amnesia caused by the emotional trauma I'd endured."

He snorted a laugh. "Yeah, and if he bought that I have the London Bridge and the Eiffel Tower for sale cheap."

"He never pressed the issue."

"He probably figured you'd either tell him or someone close to you, eventually."

"Probably," she said with a wide yawn. "And he thought right. I told _you_. However, I don't have any plans whatsoever to tell him, Tim, Uncle Jim or Dick about what really happened the night my mother was murdered. My reasoning for why still applies. I won't take away the happy memories that Tim, Dick, and Bruce have of their families. And I won't heap another layer of guilt on my uncle's already overloaded shoulders."

Conner ran a hand over her hip, a frown knitting his brow. _Once things quiet down I will work on getting her to see someone professionally, _he vowed silently._ This can't go on. Every time she has this dream it takes a bit more out of her emotionally. For now... _he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Come on, you need to get some more sleep. You've got your one class in the morning."

Not that he planned to wake her in time for her to make that class. Conner didn't tell her that, though. She'd only set up a howl about how she couldn't afford to miss class time. Raya was silent for all of thirty seconds. Then she said, in a voice that so reminded him of a scared little girl that it ripped him apart, "I don't want to go back into Tim's room. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to sleep alone." She paused before then whispering, "I'm afraid the dream will come back if you're not there to hold me."

"You don't have to go back to Tim's room and you don't have to sleep alone." Then he added, his tone intentionally flippant to try and soothe away the fear he knew was still crowding in on her, "but you're gonna be the one to explain to him about why it is you're sleeping on top of me in nothing but my t-shirt."

"Easy," she droned on a yawn. "I'll tell him I bought you at a silent auction and am testing out how well you function as a mattress."

He chuckled lightly as he settled her more comfortably against him. Long after her breathing evened out with sleep, he remained wide awake, watching for some small sign or clue that her memories were again going to rise up and haunt her. He finally allowed himself to drop off just as the sky began to lighten with the approaching dawn.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

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	7. Brothers and Sisters

Raya woke with sunlight sliding over her face, and she awoke alone. Well, she awoke _somewhat_ alone, she realized, an impish smile tugging at her lips. The eyes she could feel peering down at her told her that she wasn't as _alone_ as she originally thought she was. Clearly, Tim was up and doing his best to puzzle out why she was sleeping out here on the couch instead of in his bedroom like she usually would be. Well, she'd happily explain it to him. _After I have a little fun with him, first_. She hid a mischievous grin as she counted to ten. Then she launched herself upright, grasped Tim by the front of his t-shirt and yanked for all she was worth. It wasn't, she realized a minute later the most brilliant plan she'd ever had.

But damn it was funny.

She started giggling and quickly found she couldn't stop. Soon the entire apartment echoed with the sounds of her spiraling mirth.

"I'm glad _you_ are finding this to be so funny," Tim muttered as he rubbed the back of his head. "I've only got a lump on the back of my head from where it met the floor and dozens of other bruises creeping over bruises that I already had."

She tilted her head to look at him, a silly grin on her face. "Oh, c'mon, Timmy," she teased. "Ya gotta admit that it's a _little_ bit funny."

He snorted before shifting into a handstand. Krypto, having been rudely awoken from his nap by the commotion, ambled over to investigate. His ears popped up and his head canted to the side at the sight of Tim walking on his hands. Then the super dog just _whuffed_ a sigh before heading back to the comfy place he'd found himself in front of the fireplace. Tim angled his head back to flash a lopsided grin at Raya.

"Pretty clear what he's thinking," he joked.

"Yeah," she said as she slid onto the floor. "He's thinking you're nutso."

"I'm not the only one who he's thinking is nuts."

She snorted. "I'm not the one who is walking around on my hands."

A soft bark eloquently displayed Krypto's agreement. Tim chuckled before dropping to his feet and padding off into the kitchen. "I made some peppermint tea while you were asleep. I figured you might like a mug once you woke up."

_That was sweet of him_, she thought as she folded the blanket. That Tim was being very kind and very gentle, and acting like everything was all hunky dory gave her exactly the comfort she needed from him at that moment. Especially since the waves of embarrassment came soon as he was out of sight. She'd absolutely fallen to pieces last night. She'd run to Conner like a hysterical child- sobbing, shaking, incoherent, and absolutely pathetic. She hadn't been able to deal with the emotional floodgates, and had come looking for someone- looking for _Conner_\- so that he could save her from the monsters that were chasing after her. She, who prided herself on her strength and courage, who'd faced down the Joker and Bane without an ounce of fear, had come crying to her big, strong boyfriend because she'd been petrified of the things bursting out of the closet.

_You're pathetic_, she told herself in disgust. _You allowed Jason to tear down every wall that you have erected. You allowed him to rattle you._ The fear Jason had invoked had stripped away everything she was, everything she'd become and left her as little more than a coward scared of her own shadow. It wasn't something she planned to allow to happen ever again. Nor was she going to continue sitting here and wallowing over something that was said and done. It was not her style and not her way. Nor was it what Bruce had taught her to do in moments of fear. _Fear rises, girl. So get off your ass._

She got up, walked around the couch, and entered the kitchen. Tim was leaning against the sink and drinking orange juice from the carton while waiting for his Poptarts to finish toasting in the toaster oven. _Oy_ was her only thought. Tim's diet was absolutely atrocious whenever Alfred, Mrs. Mac or she weren't making sure that the teen hero was eating well balanced and home cooked meals.

"Let me take a shower and get dressed," she said while handing him a glass from the cupboard, "and then I will make you a proper and nutritious breakfast, Tim."

He flashed her one of his lopsided grins. "Are you saying strawberry Poptarts aren't part of a proper and nutritious breakfast?"

"I'm saying that a guy who spends his nights running around Gotham in order to stop bad guys from hurting innocent people deserves to have a hot breakfast made for him," she retorted before she headed towards the bathroom. She made it two steps before she found herself ensconced in Tim's arms.

"You don't have to pretend with me, Nix," he spoke gently, his hands smoothing themselves up and down her back in warm, soothing circles. "I know Jason has ripped open all the wounds you have inside you. I know that you're feeling raw and vulnerable right now. It's okay."

She burrowed against him, tucking her head under his chin and cinching her arms around his waist. When_ did he get taller than me_? she found herself wondering. She breathed in his scent- the spicy aroma of his aftershave mixing with the clean scent of the soap he favored, and was instantly soothed by it.

"It's not okay," she told him after a few minutes. "_I'm_ not okay." She tilted her head back to look into his eyes. "But I will be."

His lips crooked at the corners. "Still not telling Bruce or Dick about what happened, are you?"

She made a face. "I'm not gonna tell Dick, no. It will only piss him off and push him into confronting Jason. I don't want that. As for Bruce?" She harrumphed. "I have a feeling that Bruce already knows about what happened and is simply waiting for me to show up at the Manor in order to interrogate me about it."

He snorted a laugh. "That sounds totally like Bruce."

"Considering that I know he has security cameras all over my apartment, yeah."

One brow lifted. "Bruce has cameras all over your apartment?"

She nodded. "There's one in the security light out on the balcony, actually."

Both eyebrows forked at that bit of information. Not that it came as much surprise. Overly paranoid and rigidly cautious were but two facets of Bruce Wayne's personality. And Tim knew that when it came to the people that he cared about, the man could be downright fanatical in his attempt to keep them safe.

"Is that why you led Jason out onto the balcony?" he asked her. "Because you knew Alfred would be at the Batcomputer and monitoring all activity going on in the city and would tell Bruce you were in trouble?"

She made another face. "No... that's not _exactly _why I led him out onto the balcony."

"Then why did you go out onto the balcony?"

She tucked her head back beneath his chin before saying, "I knew Conner was nearby and that he'd hear me yelling and would come to investigate what the problem was soon as he heard me."

"It's pretty awesome having a guy with supersonic hearing as your boyfriend, huh?"

He felt her jolt of surprise and just barely got his chin out of the way before the top of her head slammed into it.

"You _knew_ we were dating?" she squeaked. "How?" Then she demanded, "And why didn't you say something to either of us? We've been in agony for _months_ about how to tell you that we were seeing each other!"

"Well," he said slowly. "It's kinda obvious your best friend is dating your sister when he starts _smelling_ like her."

She angled her head back to look at him. "Conner started _smelling_ like me?" she drawled. "_That's_ how you figured out we were a couple?"

He gave her a playful grin before saying, "C'mon, Nix, jasmine is not the manliest of smells on a guy." He heard her scoff and couldn't resist pointing out, "The only way a guy ends up smelling like that is if he's had his girl snuggled up against him. And since you are the only girl I know who has that particular smell..." he trailed off, waggled his eyebrows at her.

Raya merely rolled her eyes at his bit of purely male logic. "It doesn't mean we were dating, little bird," she informed him in a tone as dry as sand.

Tim just snorted. "Yeah, whatever you say, Nix."

"It doesn't!" she insisted with a frown. "It just means that at some point in time that Conner had physical contact with me and that my scent somehow managed to rub off on him."

"Well, there's also the fact that he's wearing the jade pendant I gave you two Christmases ago."

"Given for luck," she pointed out. "You guys were going on a dangerous mission…"

"-and that you were sleeping on top of him last night in nothing but his t-shirt," Tim continued as if she hadn't spoken.

"You weren't here to cuddle with," she muttered crossly. "And I didn't think to pack clothes before leaving my apartment."

"Well, there's also the fact that _you_ have his initials inked on the inside of _your_ right wrist while he has _yours_ on the inside of _his_."

"Oy," she mumbled as her face colored prettily. "I warned him that getting our initials tattooed anywhere on our bodies would be an instant tip off." She grimaced. "So... " she coughed lightly. "Who else knows about Conner and I being together if you've known about it?"

_And apparently known for quite a while_, she added silently.

"Bruce since he pretty much knows everything," he couldn't help but tease her. "But other than that? Just me I imagine."

She darted a glance at his face, tried to glean what his thoughts were about her dating his best friend, but found his thoughts were closed to her. She felt a pang of guilt for not having told him sooner about them being a couple.

"We really did mean to tell you about us a lot sooner than this, Timmy," she offered lamely. "We just..."

"Needed some time to sort things out between you," he finished for her. He smiled down into her upturned face. "I knew that, Raya. And while it bugged me at first that neither of you trusted me enough to tell me you were dating, I understand why you didn't. Same as I understand why you haven't come out and told everybody else that you are dating. You both tend to be very private when it comes to your personal lives."

"Yeah," she said on a sigh.

He jostled her playfully. "I also know that this is a pretty huge step for _you_, personally." When she merely looked at him questioningly, he said, "Conner is the first guy, outside the male members of the Batfamily that you have ever let around those Batman-like defenses you have erected around your heart."

"I never imagined I'd meet a man I'd want to trust my heart too," she told him honestly.

"You didn't imagine that anybody but _us_ could love you."

"Well, I hadn't anticipated a man like Conner Kent coming into my life and changing it." Her lips tilted up at the corners into a shy smile. "He showed me someone _other_ than my adorably nerdy little brother can love me. And," she added while he snickered, "he taught me that it's okay that I love them, too."

"He needs_ you_ as much as you need him."

"I know. And I gotta admit it's quite intoxicating to know a man like Conner can _need_ someone like me."

"Bart's gonna be totally crushed when he finds out you're dating Kon." At her inquisitive look, he sighed. "Please tell me that you knew about his crush on you?"

She shook her head. "No," she said. "I never had a clue that Pulse had a crush on me." Then her face softened and her cheeks warmed with pleasure. "It's sweet that he did have a crush on me, though."

"Does," he corrected. "He still has a crush on you. And he's gonna be so devastated when he finds out that you are with Kon."

"Well, he can cheer himself up by reading all the slash fiction about you and Conner that is posted on the internet."

Tim looked at her. "Say wha?"

She sniggered at his stupefied and rather adorably horrified expression.

"Oh, c'mon now, Tim," she teased. "Don't tell me that you aren't aware of the websites out there and dedicated to the beauty of the love affair between Robin and Superboy?"

"Uh, clearly not," he groused. "Care to fill me in here?"

"Why it's just all the talk," she began in a dramatic voice that earned her a black look.

"Get to the point, Nix."

She merely smiled sweetly at him before chirping, "You and Conner are the most shipped Titans on the net. In fact, you should see some of the artwork these fangirls have come up with to pay homage to your love. How they even _know_ about what you two look like without your clothes on is beyond me..."

"Shipped?" Tim's brow knotted with his obvious confusion. "Where are they shipping us too? And how does this relate to us being featured on the internet?"

Raya chortled. "Not that kind of ship, silly. I mean ship as in being a couple. Yanno, _romantic_. Like he and I are... or like you and Ariana."

Silence was her response. One look at his face showed that he was struggling with processing the idea that anybody would ship him with his best friend. Then he looked at her, a suspicious glint in his eye before asking, "You're kidding, right? There's really no such websites out there with no such stories or pictures featuring Kon and me as the stars, right?"

"Wrong, little birdie," she gurgled. "This is a massive online community. And you and Conner are but _one_ of the favorite pairs that these fangirls fawn over, actually."

"Who are some of the others?" Tim found himself asking despite his every intention to just forget she'd ever mentioned the subject.

"Wally and Dick is another major favorite as is Bruce and Clark, Bruce and Dick and Bart and Jamie. Oh, and there's a rising subculture that favors you and Jason as a pair, as well. Though," she admitted with a slight frown. "I'm not really sure how they justify that one considering how you and Jason are practically enemies."

Tim could only gape at her. "Nah-uh," he said with a shake of his head. "You're pulling my leg here, Raya. Tell me that there are no such websites out there with these stories and artwork posted on them."

"Want me to show you?"

"Yeah, I do," he groused.

Ten minutes later he was slamming the laptop lid and sitting there in a horribly uncomfortable silence. Raya took pity upon him, draping her arms around his neck and saying soothingly, "Being imitated in artwork is the highest form of flattery, yanno."

He shot a dirty look at her from over his shoulder. "How is it that _you_ know about this crap?"

"Who do ya think has been posting Robin's exploits on sites like these for the past three years?"

Tim flashed a horrified look at her. "You've been writing this crap?!" he yelped. "How could you?!"

She rolled her eyes and bopped him on the head. "I don't write _slash_, ya goofball. And I don't write about our _real_ lives."

"What do you write about then?" he grumbled as he rubbed where she smacked him.

"I write about our lives as crime fighters, mostly. I talk about the missions, the villains, the physical and emotional tolls that our professions take. I write about us being a family and all bonded by life changing events. It's my way of reminding the world that we're real people and that what we do comes with great consequences."

"But you write nothing about our real lives, right?"

"I use our codenames only and never write about our personal relationships or our lives outside the job."

Tim pondered that for a moment. He supposed there was no harm in what she was doing. It wasn't like she was revealing trade secrets or intimate details about who they were or what they did. Then a thought occurred to him and he flashed a suspicious look at her.

"Does Kon know about your writing hobby?"

She grinned at him. "Who do ya think beta's for me?"

Tim vowed to beat the snot out of his best friend when he got home.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.


	8. A Deadly Time

"Mary Ainsworth, in her 'Strange Situation' study, observed children who were between the ages of twelve and eighteen months as they responded to a situation where they are in a room with their…"

The woman's voice became a low buzzing sound in his ear. It reminded Conner of the long and lazy summer afternoons he used to spend on the Kent farm. They'd been some of the happiest days of his life. He'd sat on the front stoop for hours, watching as the world rolled by and listening to the bees as they flew about in their frenzied search for nectar. He figured if he closed his eyes and focused really hard that he could just about imagine himself back there.

For a moment, just one, it worked. The lecture hall and the two hundred people surrounding him melted into a Kansas farmhouse awash in the final rays of the rapidly setting sun. For a moment, just one, he thought he could feel a warm wind blowing through his hair, caressing his moist flesh and wiping away the sweat dotting his upper lip.

For a moment, just one, he could feel the blades of grass tickle his toes as he made his way across the yard to where the old hammock he had slung between the two trees he helped plant his first year at the farm swung in the late afternoon breeze.

For a moment, just one, he thought he could smell the burn of summer rising off the parched ground, taste the sting of it in the lemonade Ma had made fresh just that morning and hear it in the silence of the approaching twilight. For a moment, just one, he was lulled into a state of total peace and contentment. The tension that had been dogging him since the night before drained from his body, leaving him feeling loose and relaxed. His mind emptied of every thought and concern he had been having.

Conner felt himself drifting towards sleep. He tried to fight it but fingers sifted through his hair and stroked along the back of his neck in a caress that was both soothing and enticing. He swallowed back a yawn as he settled himself more comfortably in his chair. _Just a quick power nap_, he told himself. _Just enough to recharge the battery_. He was just about to let him doze off but jerked himself awake a second before he did. He needed to remain alert, focused. He blinked his eyes to clear the grit from them and focused upon the slide the professor was indicating with her laser pointer.

"A toddler who is securely attached to its parent will explore their environment freely while the parent is present..."

Conner stifled a groan and reached for the cup of coffee he'd intuitively known to bring with him.

_How the hell does she manage to sit through hours of this crap every week without passing out from boredom?_ He wondered as he took a sip of the still warm brew.

It was a question he planned to ask his geekier half after he got home. _Home_. Now, there was something that gave him a moment's pause. _He_ had a _home, _he realized, the cup held halfway up to his lips. He, the guy who had literally been made in a petri dish and who essentially maturated in a tube, had a place he could call _home_. Despite knowing how ridiculous it was, he still felt sentiment, pure raw emotion, swamp him. It was stupid, he knew. He always had a _place _with the Titans. He could go and spend a few days with Ma Kent or Clark even. And he had lived in other places and with other people over the years.

Conner had learned - from Raya surprisingly - how a _home _was about more than a roof and four walls. It was about the _people _who lived there_. _It was about _family_. And that was a hell of a thing to a guy who hadn't _technically_ come into this world with any family of his own. Now he not only had Clark, Kara, Tim, Dick and the other Titans, but he had a _home_ and a girl, as well as two rabbits, five fish, four rats, three black kittens, Wolf and Krypto all there waiting for him when he came walking through the front door.

Him.

Conner Kent.

Kon-El.

Project Kr.

Experiment 13.

Genomorph.

Kryptonian.

Clone.

Man.

He had a _family_.

_We're an unusual family,_ he thought as a sleepy grin tugged at his lips, _but we're a family nonetheless_. It was a heady, wondrous feeling. He revealed in it as he slumped down a bit more in the seat he'd managed to cop by the door. Again he tried to focus on the slide the woman at the front of the room was reading from but gave up after less than ten seconds. It wasn't that he found the field of Psychology useless or boring. It was quite the opposite really.

Understanding why people thought, felt and acted in certain ways aided him in not only understanding himself, but it helped him be the best superhero he could be. No, his main problem at that moment was that he could care less about sitting through a three-hour lecture on _attachment theory_. Not after getting less than two hours sleep the night before.

The only reason he was attending the class in the first place was because of the woman he had left sleeping at home. Raya was fanatical about things like school and work. She took her education even more seriously than she did her responsibilities as a crime fighter. She'd been that way from the first time he had met her. Part of her fanaticism about school was because Bruce Wayne and Jim Gordon had made it a condition for her remaining in her role as the Fenix. Getting her degree, having something to fall back upon should she find herself no longer able to function as her alter-ego had been essential to both men. It was just as important to him, as well.

_Still gonna __owe me huge for sitting through this crap,_ he told his absent girlfriend while stifling another yawn with the back of his hand. He would do it again, though. When it came to Raya there wasn't much that he _wouldn't_ do to make her happy. Or to keep her safe. _I even moved to Gotham because it's her home and her family all lives here. _Not that he really minded living in Gotham. The way he saw it, he got to spend more time with Tim. _And with Dick whenever he is in town_.

The class, thankfully, came to an end a few minutes later. Conner grabbed his stuff and more than happily left. As vastly amusing as it was to listen to Raya rattling off all that psycho mumbo jumbo, sitting through three hours of it had left him with nothing but a pounding headache. He was just crossing the quad when he heard someone calling his name. Turning, he saw Barbara Gordon jogging towards him.

"I wondered if I might run into you on campus," he said in lieu of a greeting. "Are you just leaving class?"

"I'm just going to class, actually." Her voice was that same smoky one Raya had. A smile trembled upon her lips as she stepped up to him. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Oh, you're as bad as Dick, I swear," she huffed good-naturedly. "I mean what are you doing here? I wasn't aware that you'd decided to attend Gotham University as a student."

"I'm not a student." He told the petite red-head the truth because he considered her both an ally and family. "I only came because Raya wasn't able to attend her morning class."

"Why couldn't she attend her morning class?" Her head tilted to the side. The deep blue stones at her ears caught the light and glinted. "Is she all right?"

"She just had a really long night," he replied. "So I let her sleep and came to class for her."

It surprised him when her lips curved, almost affectionately. "Well, that's a very boyfriend-like thing to do."

"What? I'm not-" he broke off, sighed. God, he was tired of using that line. However, he and Raya hadn't talked about telling anybody but for Tim at that moment. "Look, Barb, I'm not..."

"Her boyfriend?" She finished for him. "Liar."

"You're right. I am." Whatever came from this admission, if it upset Raya that he told her cousin that he was her boyfriend, he'd weather it. It was time they told everyone the truth. "I am Raya's boyfriend." He stared at Barbara, gauging her reaction. "We have been together for the last seven months."

"Well, now you surprise me, Kon."

Of all the reactions he expected, that wasn't the one. He cocked his head to the side, curious about why she wasn't upset about them keeping their relationship a secret.

"How so?"

She hitched the strap of her laptop bag up higher onto her shoulder before answering. "Well," she said finally with just a speckle of amusement in her voice. "I figured I'd have to go and drag the truth out of Raya."

"It's not that we didn't intend to tell everybody." Conner rubbed the back of his neck with his hand as he worked out how to explain why they had kept their relationship a secret for so long. "It's just-"

"You were waiting to see what would come of things before you said anything to anybody."

"Yeah, pretty much." He flashed a small, sheepish smile at her. "Just for the record, we have been discussing coming clean to the family for the last few months. There just never seemed to be a right time and place for such a conversation to occur."

"I can understand that." A group of students walked out of the building behind them, sounding like magpies as they chattered about upcoming exams and papers. Conner took hold of Barbara's arm and pulled her out of the way of the doors. "Just answer me one thing," Barbara requested once they were clear of the mob.

"Okay?"

"Is she okay?" When she saw his inquisitive look she sighed and said, "Raya went to class once with a bullet in her arm. So I know she wouldn't have missed her morning class unless she was seriously injured. Or," she paused, flinched. "Dead. So tell me… is she seriously injured? Because you wouldn't be here if she was dead."

...

On a rooftop across from the steel-and-glass lecture hall, a woman watched the duo through the scope of her rifle. Her thick lips curled into a sneer. How she would love to put a bullet in the dark haired man. _Abomination_. Hate and disgust festered in her soul. _You should never have been created_. _What was Mictlantecuhtli thinking in allowing something like you to be created? _Oh, the temptation to pull back on the trigger and test whether or not he could outrun a bullet was high. However, she banked it, telling herself that she had not been sent here to kill the aberration. No, she'd been sent here for the woman looking up into his disgusting face.

Her phone vibrated, alerting her to the possibility that she, Mictlan was about to grant permission to add Barbara Gordon's name to her already extensive list of conquests. A hand, nearly as brown as the roof tiles reached down and picked the phone up. She slid her thumb across the screen in one smooth, and effortless motion, in order to read the message, sent her, hoping it was the one she'd been waiting for and not another one telling her to stand down. She grunted. Mictlan was tired of standing down. She wanted to be given the green light. She wanted to be told go, do. _Kill_. She read the text message through burning eyes.

_[Do it]_, the message read.

Short, simple and succulent.

She made a soft sound, much like that of a jaguar who'd caught the scent of her prey. Mictlan had been given the go. She'd been told do. _Kill_. A smile stretched across her full lips, illuminated a face covered by dozens of black lines etched permanently onto her skin. She set the phone back on the ground and reached for the M40A3 sniper rifle she'd bought specially for this job. Anticipation had her belly quivering, her heartbeat quickening, her fingers tingling. She took a breath, just one. It was enough to stem the tidal wave of lust flooding through her.

Mictlantecuhtli had appointed Mictlan as his representative of the nine levels of the underworld. She was the trials that the fallen must pass in order to find peace in the afterlife. She brought the bones of her dead to Mictecacihuatl as a way to honor the deity for her role in Mictlan's earthly creation. Excitement peaked as she dropped a round into the chamber, heard the _click_ which told her that the moment had come. It was that time when everything slowed down and every thought, every action, seemed to last for an eternity, and yet only a second had elapsed.

Mictlan knew it was only a matter of waiting for when her target would turn her pretty little head towards her. Then she would take the shot, the only one needed in order to add Gordon's name to her list of conquests. The redhead was little more than one more step taken to achieving her goal of being the number one assassin in the world. Her index finger touched the trigger. All it would take was a simple squeeze. She took a split second to breathe, and then she instinctively and efficiently applied the appropriate amount of pressure.

The shot rang out over the square.

...

Conner went to tell Barbara about what had happened with Jason the night before but stopped when he heard the sound of a high-powered assault rifle being fired. Instincts came alive and he hooked an arm around Barbara's waist, pulling the startled redhead out of the path of danger. Seconds later a slug slammed into the glass orb that crowned the lamp post they'd been standing under, splintering it into a billion different pieces that sounded like hail as they rained down to the ground.

"Conner?" Barbara managed to gasp once the shock wore off. "What is it? What's happening?"

"Sniper!" He gritted. "Stay down!"

The quad became pandemonium: shouts, screams, the people who'd been moving along to reach whatever destination they'd been heading now becoming a mindless mob, desperately afraid, horribly traumatized, running aimlessly, seeking any kind of safety before hell might again get visited upon them. A campus policeman who'd just happened to be driving by had the presence of mind to use his loudspeaker to try and restore order, to no avail. Conner kept his body curved around Barbara's while searching the rooftops of the closest buildings for a sign of the shooter. He stopped when he thought he caught a glimpse of a white dog with a red cape racing across the rooftop of Seoul Hall.

_Krypto_? confusion knotted his brow. _But I left you at home with_...

_Raya_.

Conner felt his blood run cold as realization dawned. He searched the crowd and spotted her instantly. She was at the edge of the parking lot and trying to work her way in his and Barb's direction. That the fool woman had no notion of the potential danger she was in was crystal clear. Not that she'd have cared. Conner heard a _click_ and knew the shooter was priming another round. He only had a few seconds at most to get to her.

_Time_.

It all came down to time. Everything, Conner realized, came down to time. Second, minute, or hour. All three were entities of the same linear property, and all of them came with different units used to measure their particular property. Knowing if you had seconds, minutes or hours could make all the difference in the world between a plan being a success, or a failure. Here, one second, barely the span of an indrawn breath, was going to make all the difference between Raya _living _or _dying_.

Fifteen seconds.

That was the amount of time he had in order to cover the distance between him and his woman.

He was already halfway across the quad when the shooter pressed down on the trigger for a second time.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.


	9. Secret's Out

Conner caught Raya around the waist and twisted around, putting himself between her and the assassin's bullet. He heard the tiny projectile whistle, loud as mortar fire to his amplified auditory senses, as it soared through the air. He felt it, hotter than an iron, as it whizzed by his ear. It found purchase in the thick branch of the tree right above them, raining bits of bark, leaf and sap down upon them. For a moment, just one, neither of them could do more than simply stand there, staring into each other's eyes and silently asking if the other was okay. It was Raya who finally broke the silence.

"Conner..." Her voice shook with the shock and fear rimming her eyes. "What just...?"

Whatever else she was going to say ended on a strangled gasp when Conner crushed his mouth to hers. For a moment, just one, he let himself take, let the storm of emotions that had surged through him the second he realized she was in danger crash over them both. Everything around them ceased to exist. The only thing he could focus upon was the woman he held in the shelter of his arms. That unique flavor of her churned inside him, electrifying his nerves, frying his senses. His arms tightened so that her body was molded to his, and against his heart, her heart pulsed and kicked until it matched his.

Exactly.

...

On the rooftop, Mictlan saw through the Schmidt &amp; Bender telescopic scope how the second round she'd discharged had found purchase in a tree rather than the creamy flesh of her second offering. She released a stream of vitriolic curses and went to take aim again, but she couldn't get a clear shot of Kean. Not with the abomination curled around the petite woman like a protective barrier. No matter, her offering to Mictlantecuhtli was not Kean, anyway. It was the lovely redhead that the meta-freak had abandoned as soon as he realized his pretty little _novia_ was in trouble who was her intended offering. She swung the rifle back towards her chosen target, but the pandemonium in the quad made getting a clear shot impossible. Then she heard a bark and caught a glimpse of white as a huge dog with a red cape fluttering in the breeze launched itself towards the building upon which she was perched.

It was time to leave.

Mictlan must never be seen by those still walking the world of the living. She must never be caught. Those were the words that Mictlantecuhtli told her before he unleashed her upon the world. And she obeyed Mictlantecuhtli's every rule without question. She quickly stowed her rifle in its special carrying case before going inside and quickly descending the roof access stairs to join the mob gathered in the quad.

...

A discreet and thoroughly amused sounding cough sounded from behind them, startling the couple completely oblivious to the world going on around them.

"I'm glad you two weren't planning on keeping things a secret any longer..." Barbara remarked dryly. "People might otherwise have started to suspect after they witnessed that lip lock."

Conner groaned. He'd completely forgotten about Barbara being there. He lifted his head and looked down into Raya's eyes, ready to apologize for having outed them to the world. What he saw though was love and mirth shining back at him. However, it was the copious amounts of fear still swirling in that verdant gaze that rattled him the most. It reminded him about how he'd nearly lost her less than two minutes ago to a bullet fired by an assassin he assumed had to have been hired by her father.

"Jesus Christ, Raya, have you lost what's left of your friggin' mind?" His breath ragged, he buried his face in her hair and struggled to quell the fear that was wracking his body with tremors. "Don't you ever stop to recognize when _you're_ the one who is in danger?"

"Me?" she squawked. "They could have shot _you_, Conner. _You_! Or didn't you stop to consider that?"

"Babe, that bullet would have just bounced off me," he reminded her gently. "Whole Man of Steel thing, remember?"

She fixed him with a look so black that it was eerily reminiscent of Batman's. Then she said in a near perfect imitation of that low, dark rasp, "They could still kill you, meathead."

He grinned at her, couldn't help it. "Not with a regular bullet they can't."

"And what if they were using a Kryptonite bullet, Conner? What then?"

"Ray…"

"For all that you are immune to most physical attacks, you are not invincible. You can, and have been killed before." A well of emotion rose in her throat, thickened her voice before she could swallow it back. "And I know it sounds…" she trailed off as the remembered grief and pain and horror rose up to choke her. "I'm _not_ losing you again. Do you understand me? I'm _not_ losing you again. I'll lock your ass up in the Batcave if it's the only way to keep you safe. So help me if I won't."

He did not doubt she wouldn't carry out her threat. Not for one minute did he think she wouldn't lock him up in the Batcave if she thought it was the only way to keep him from harm. She could be just as fanatical in her attempts to keep those she loved safe as Bruce.

"Babe," he said softly, reasonably. "You are worrying yourself over nothing. You are not in any danger of losing me."

Her fingers clenched in the folds of his sweatshirt. "Conner-"

"Raya," he said with some exasperation now. "How many assassins do you know that walk around with Kryptonite bullets in their back pockets?"

"Copperhead for one," the wretched woman retorted instantly. "And Shiva, Deadshot, Bronze Tiger, Cheshire and Shado just to name a few more."

"Yes, but-"

"And do you think that any assassin who is hired by my father won't have Kryptonite bullets provided to them? Or that Ra's al Ghul won't supply his League members with something that's capable of killing someone with your physiological makeup? We are not dealing with stupid criminals here, Conner."

"Ra's definitely has something planned for whenever he gets courageous enough to take on Conner or Clark," Barbara pointed out. "And if he doesn't, I'm almost certain that Talia will. Evil bitch is always prepared."

Conner shot a look at her that told the red-head in no uncertain terms that he did not appreciate her help any. Barbara merely smiled in that same mischievous way her cousin had.

"Maybe those assassins would come prepared," he allowed. "But that does not mean that-"

"Any assassin who is sent after you is going to come armed with whatever is necessary to bring you down, Conner." Raya stood on her tiptoes so she could stare him in the eyes more fully. "Knowing any weakness that an enemy or ally has is key to being prepared for any situations that could crop up when you're out in the field."

_I somehow_ _keep forgetting I am dealing with the female version of Batman here... _

Conner heaved a weary sigh. That Batman had trained his protégés to be prepared for anything was a testament to what his own life experiences had been. However, Conner also knew that it went way beyond just making sure that his children didn't make some of the same mistakes he had or learn some of the same lessons through the same painful ways. Batman's one mantra, beyond the golden rule about not killing, was to "fight smarter, not harder." Knowing everything one could about their enemy, or their allies as she'd pointed out, eliminated the element of surprise. It allowed for a contingency plan to already be in place to cover that potential possibility of something happening that prevented the first plan from being successful. However...

"Babe..." he began but Raya instantly cut him off.

"Don't you _babe_ me, Conner Kent," she huffed. She angled her head back to look at him and he saw her eyes glittered with impatience as much as fear now. "I told you about what would happen if my father ever found out about us being together. I said that he'd target you as much as he would Dick or Tim. And I warned you that he'd likely come after you hardest simply because you _are_ you and he-"

A car screamed to a stop beside them, cutting off whatever the rest of Raya's statement was going to be. Commissioner James "Jim" Gordon leaped from the driver's side before the engine even had a chance to finish sputtering and tore around the vehicle to yank his daughter into a fierce hug. When he stepped back a second later, his eyes were flashing blue fire and his face was set in a way that told Conner that the older man was in what Raya commonly called _Cop Daddy_ mode. Conner had not had much of a _paternal_ figure in his life until Jonathan Kent had come along. Even then, though, Pa Kent wasn't so much a _dad_ to him as he was a much needed stable presence in his life. Even Clark wasn't a _dad_ to him. Not in the way that Jim Gordon was to Barbara and that both he and Bruce were to Raya.

"Are you kids all right?" Gordon demanded. "Are you hurt?"

"We're fine, Dad," Barbara replied in a calm and soothing voice. "Conner got Raya and me to safety while Krypto went after the shooter."

That Gordon didn't find it strange how a _dog _had been sent after an unknown assailant with a high-powered assault rifle was a testament to how much crap he'd seen and heard in his years as a cop. Most people knew Krypto was far more than just a _dog_. Those who didn't? Well, they just went along with it because this was Gotham and stranger things were known to have happened in this city. Gordon ran a hand over his face.

"So the reports were true? Shots were fired?" He glanced first at Barbara and then Raya. "And which of you was the intended target this time?"

Conner hid a smile. Clearly, _Cop Daddy _had been in this particular predicament before. He knew his girls being present when a shooter opened fire wasn't purely coincidental. Whoever the shooter was, they'd been hired with the singular purpose to kill one or the both of them. You didn't work in the criminal field without pissing a few people off, though. Conner, as well as Gordon, knew that hiring an assassin to eliminate a particular problem was just the way many in the criminal set tended to operate.

"Dad..." Barbara began but more police cars, their sirens bleating, screeched to a halt and ended whatever she was going to say. Detective Harvey Bullock, as well as a dozen other uniformed officers, emerged from the cars, hands near their holsters and bodies at the ready. Soon as Gordon saw his cavalry had arrived, he flipped from _Cop Daddy _into _Police Commissioner_.

"Ferguson, I want you to take a handful of men and work on crowd control," he snapped out in a cool, crisp voice.

"You got it, boss," Ferguson signaled for a handful of men to follow him and loped off towards the center of the quad. "On me."

"Harvey, I want you to take Markinson and Smith and do a scan of the Seoul building. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious."

"Right," Bullock said, turning to lope off. "Smith, get your ass over here and!"

"Richards," Gordon barked. "You and Lee take Berkeley Hall. You spot anything out of the ordinary, you radio for help. Nobody needs to be a hero here. You got me?"

"Yes, sir," they replied in unison.

Gordon finally back turned to them.

"Now, as for you three..."

...

University Street, especially at this time of the morning, was crowded with students racing to and fro from one of the four buildings that lined the quad. Mictlan lost herself in the sea of screaming people, quickly becoming just another terrified soul searching for cover from the menace who'd just fired two rounds into their midst. She was deeply vexed over her failure to reap either the bones of Raya Kean or Barbara Gordon. The fault for her failure she, of course, laid upon the broad shoulders of the creature who currently had his arms wrapped protectively around his pretty _novia_. She'd not only make him pay for his existence but his interference in her carefully crafted plan. Oh, she'd find a way to kill him.

Even Superman could be killed, after all.

One just had to have the means of accomplishing such a deed. Mictlan's fleshy lips curled as she made her way across the quad. Her phone vibrated and she pulled it from her pocket, knowing who the caller was without glancing at the ID. She slipped into an alcove between two buildings and pressed the answer button.

"I am displeased, Mictlan," she heard Berkeley grit on the other end of the phone. "You promised to kill my niece, Barbara Gordon, as well as my daughter." There was a pause. "And you have managed to do neither."

"_Fue sin querer_," she said politely. "It was not an intentional slight, I assure you, Señor Berkeley. The metafreak managed to rescue _su hija y sobrina_."

"Superboy rescuing my daughter and niece does not please me," Berkeley rasped. There was a minute pause. Then he growled, "That metafreak has become a thorn in my side, Mictlan. I desire it to be removed."

"Mictlan will gladly remove this throne for you, Señor Berkeley. She just needs one particular item in order to accomplish the job-"

"Kryptonite bullets," he interjected impatiently. "Yes, I am well aware that they are needed in order to deliver your coup de grâce. Trust me." His voice was a dark baritone. "You will have them."

Then there was a _click_, and the line went dead. Mictlan allowed the rudeness to pass. As long as Señor Berkeley provided her with the bullets she needed in order to give death to the abomination, she'd allow his behavior. She pocketed her phone as she blended into the crowd once more. Instantly, she was swallowed up by the crowd, just another woman in a Gotham University hoodie and sweats with what might have been her art portfolio in her hand.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.


	10. And the Doctor is in

She was speaking to one of the asylum's inept guards- he vaguely recalled the man's name to be Gibbons, at the security desk when he spotted her. He might not have noticed the woman at all, focused as he was upon getting back to his _office - _he so hated the word _cell -_ if it wasn't that he heard her laugh echoing throughout the transit area. He thought at first that she was a small child laughing gaily after having been given a promised treat by one of her overindulgent parents. One surreptitious glance over his shoulder, however, showed him that this young lady had long since left the dark years that were known as _childhood_.

_"_Who is she?" he heard _him_ simper in his ear. "She's quite... _interesting_."

_I do not know who she is,_ Dr. Jonathan Crane replied, lucent eyes narrowing in speculation.

"We need to find out."

Crane quite agreed with his other half. He told himself that his interest in her was purely a professional one. It wasn't as if the young lady was a raving beauty, a rich heiress or some well-known researcher worth his time and attention. Yet, Crane found that he couldn't simply regulate his interest in the woman to something derived purely from a professional interest. Something about her was just absolutely... _captivating_.

Oh, he presumed that the girl was lovely enough. Her hair reminded him of spilled ink. Dark and curling, it only added a touch of dramatic flair against skin like fresh cream. Her dress, a deep shade of blue with a crimson undertone, clung to her supple frame. The needle-thin heels she wore made her legs seem incredibly longer than they were, and the simple, tasteful stones she wore in her small ears displayed a taste for simplicity. She was exceptionally young, Crane judged her to be no more than twenty-three or four at most. Every inch of her oozed with sophistication and class, polish and good breeding. She all but shimmered with... _mystery_.

It was quite a shock to discover that he was... _interested_ in her as a man would be interested in a woman. He hummed low in his throat as he pondered his physical reaction to the young lady. His body was humming, singing, tingling with sensations that were really quite... _delicious_. There was an unusual heat cascading through him, warming his blood and I'm electrifying his senses. Silvery wisps of light shot out from his pounding heart, filled the vast caverns of his superior mind and warmed his blood. He was drawn to the woman much as a moth was drawn to a flame. It hit him then that what he was experiencing was that state most anthropologists and psychologists tended to define as _attraction_. He was being drawn by biological forces towards this woman because they shared a similar interest and desired to form an interpersonal relationship with her because of their shared proximity. Yes, it all made sense now. He was finally experiencing that elusive state that had been so long denied him.

And he found it to be a heady, intoxicating, and wonderfully _liberating_ feeling.

It was a sensation that had the _Scarecrow_ scurrying to the far recesses of his mind with a low, moist hiss.

Crane recalled how his first, and only, experience with attraction had been a complete and utter disaster. He'd developed a schoolboy crush on a classmate, Sherry Squires, and foolishly asked her to attend a costume party with him. She'd agreed, but only so her boyfriend, Bo Griggs could play a despicable prank upon him. _Now there is a fond memory_, he thought as a smug smile twisting his thin lips. Not only had it been the first time he donned what would become his trademark mask and vestments, but it also became the first time he allowed the _Scarecrow_ the freedom to do what _he,_ himself could not. The _Scarecrow_ taught Sherry Squires and Bo Griggs a lesson for their cruel... _treatment_ of him. A lesson which had put Squires in her grave, Briggs in a wheelchair for the rest of his life and started _him_ upon the path of what would soon become his life's work: studying the phenomena of _fear_.

After that, he had become too engrossed in his research to concern himself with the trivialities of the human mating practice. Ah, but now he saw he'd denied himself the pleasure of female companionship for far too long. Too long had he been parched of thirst and refusing to quench it. Too long had he been emotionally starving and not died from the want of sustenance. For too long he'd felt... _nothing_. Not the wind upon his face nor the sun upon his skin. Never had he partaken of the so-called _pleasures_ said to be found in a woman's arms. He'd seen many men become blithering idiots because of the sorcery of the female species. Until this fascinating creature arrived to tempt him as Adam had been tempted by Eve, he'd been content to remain focused upon his research.

Now?

Now he found himself desiring to partake of the forbidden fruit.

_And that_, Crane thought with a soft giggle, _makes this woman truly _extraordinary.

"That is why we must discover who she is," he heard Scarecrow whispering. As if he wasn't already thinking it for himself. "We must know if this woman is worthy of our attention. We must know if she is worthy of the high honor we would be bestowing upon her."

_Do you think that she could be our Mistress of Fear_? Crane mused.

"Yes..." came the loquacious response.

_She could prove to be as much of a twit as Quinn, though. _

"Ah, but look at her bearing," Scarecrow crooned next to his right ear. "It screams with pride and dignity. This woman will never stoop to becoming a mere _plaything_..."

_She would help with gathering together our test subjects, administering the drugs, watching over the groups, and tabulating our findings once the experiment is done._

"She would much rather be our research assistant, credited with her part in our findings and honored for her part in the experiment."

_Yes_...

However, as Crane stood there, silently contemplating exactly how he'd go about engaging the young intern in conversation, he realized that there was something strangely… _familiar_ about her. At first, he imagined it was because she looked a lot like that fool Quinn woman had when she'd first come to work at Arkham. Then she turned and Crane caught a glimpse of her eyes as they flicked over the waiting patients, guards and staff loitering around the transit area. Intelligence met with cool self-confidence and a veiled hint of something more that only served to prick the doctor's interest in the little enchantress even more.

Internally, the Scarecrow stirred. "We know her..." he seethed.

_How_?

"Devil's Night..." came the moist response right before Crane was blasted backward in time to the night of his greatest failure...

* * *

**Gotham City**

_Eight years ago_.

The girl, the granddaughter of the infamous Dr. Berkeley, scrambled to her feet. She scooped the toddler, an _unfortunate_ causality, into her arms before turning and tearing off into the dense fog that his mist machines had created.

"After her!" Scarecrow snapped shrilly at the inmates surrounding him.

Slowly, the procession followed the fleeing teen. Crane trailed along behind them, enjoying every moment of the chase. The girl-_Raya_, he mentally corrected, stumbled once, but kept on running. Occasionally, she tossed a furtive glance over her shoulder. He could see those green eyes were wide as saucers, dominating the majority of that pale face. He smiled, enjoying the sight of her terror almost as much as he enjoyed this game of pursuit. She turned then into an alley and stopped.

Dead end.

She was trapped.

His minions circled around him, hulking figures licking their lips and aching for a taste of the nubile flesh on display in front of them.

"Come with me now, my dear," he crooned to the glowering brat, holding out the hand that was covered by that Freddy Krueger-like glove. In the shadows created by the dense mist, the syringes which tipped his fingers glowed like hellfire. "And I will spare the boy the fate awaiting him." Then his voice dropped an octave and he hissed, "But if you continue to defy me..." a momentary pause to allow his words to take effect. "I assure you that you will not like the consequences."

"Go to hell, you sick bastard," she snarled at him.

"_Tch_, _tch_," he chastised with a click of his tongue. "Such language is not becoming for a young lady of your wealth and breeding."

"Bite me."

Crane giggled, couldn't help himself. She was really _quite_ adorable now that he thought about it. She pushed the boy behind her and reached into the pack she had dropped on the ground.

"Come along now, my dear," he simpered. "It is time that we are off."

"I will never go anywhere with you!"

Scarecrow giggled. "You have no choice in the matter, child."

"Wrong!" she snarled as she pulled a flare from the bag. She ignited it, tossed it at him. A spark from the red-hot flame caught in a piece of the frayed burlap covering his left arm. Flames arced across Crane's face. He shrieked, once, the sound offensively girly before he began to wildly beat at the smoldering material. The material burst into flame. With another high-pitched scream, he tore off through the fog, desperate to find an ounce of water in which to put out the burning cloth.

* * *

"It is the little twit," Scarecrow said once the memory faded. "The one who dared to set us on fire and caused our experiment to fail."

_You think she is Dr. Berkeley's granddaughter_?

"Yes…"

Crane's eyes narrowed as he studied that alabaster face, those glittering green orbs. _Yes_, he thought now. This woman and that fourteen-year-old brat could very well be one and the same. Raya Berkeley would be about the same age as this young woman now. Hatred lanced through him, hot and keen, and was even more thrilling than his momentary spurt of lust had been. His heart beat with a different sort of anticipation now. His body hungered for something darker, colder and more sinister in nature once he saw the possibility to have revenge was now at hand.

"Vengeance shall finally be ours."

_Yes_...

His lucent eyes gleamed in the shadows. Crane felt a shift start deep down within himself. Felt the Scarecrow slowly rising up towards the surface. He could feel the darkness swelling to life within him, trying to oust him, to seize control of their body. _No_! He could not allow the Scarecrow to rise to the surface! Not yet! He had things to do, facts to gather before he could give his other side free reign to make this girl-turned-woman pay for her crimes against him! First, he needed to know if this young woman was, in fact, the granddaughter of Dr. Matthew Berkeley Sr. Then, and only then would he allow the Scarecrow his freedom.

For if she was...

"_Inceptive_ will finally be ours," the Scarecrow cooed. "After all these years, we will finally have the formula for ourselves."

And obtaining _Inceptive_ appealed to him almost as much as getting even with the little twit did. A silver-haired doctor Crane did not recognize, but who he made a mental note to become better acquainted with, appeared to escort the young woman through the transit area. Rows of patients, many of them transfers from Blackgate, hooted and hollered at her from behind the locked doors of their cells. Obscene innuendos, catcalls, and whistles followed her down the length of the long, dreary corridor. Crane heard them rattling their cages and yapping like packs of hyenas and was disgusted by it.

It was nothing more than Sigmund Freud's sex and aggression theory at work. Sex and aggression were, after all, the basic drives that drove them all. They were the instincts they were all born with, and which dominated each and every choice that they made. Crane personally thought Freud to be as crazy as the majority of the patients locked up in the Intensive Treatment. However, even he couldn't discount how areas of his psychodynamic theory were not relevant in the modern era. The doctor led the brat down a side corridor that snaked off from the one he was hiding in. Crane unwound his lanky frame and scuttled down the hall after them, hearing her speak in a voice that reminded him of spiced rum.

"I appreciate you taking the time to escort me around the facilities, Dr. Nichols."

"It is my pleasure, Miss Kean," Nichols replied warmly. "We are truly grateful that you decided to take this internship with us..."

He blanked their voices out. None of what they said mattered to him. He briefly considered luring the woman into one of the empty cells lining the long, winding hallway. He could inject her then with a dose of his fear toxin and get the information that he desired from her.

"Ah, but what fun would that be?" his other side asked him.

Jonathan's lips curled. Why Scarecrow was right. What fun would it be to confront the brat now? The experiment would be over if he made his approach at this point. Better to wait, to bide his time, to begin by formulating a hypothesis statement. There were all sorts of things he still needed to take into account before beginning his new experiment. He needed to give thought to the topic he desired to research.

He needed to carefully select the research method he would use to test his variables. He needed to set the parameters of his particular method and stage how the experiment was going to be conducted, and by whom. He needed to take all the possible outliers and confounding variables into consideration in order to ensure his results were conclusive, valid and reputable. He needed to know if she was indeed Raya Berkeley so that he could have her, her grandfather's copiously wondrous behavioral modification agent, and vengeance upon the Dark Knight all in one go.

The Scarecrow let loose a high-pitched cackle that sent chills down the spine of the very woman Dr. Jonathan Crane had just become fixated upon.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.


	11. Weren't you told?

As soon as Nichols left her alone in her makeshift office, Raya smiled and said, "Yanno, when I asked you to come home, I meant to come _home_. Not follow your best friend around on her meeting at Arkham."

"Well, when you initially asked me to come home it was before some freak with a gun took a shot at you and Barb."

Raya glanced up at the ceiling and saw the faint outline of the figure perched in the opening of an air duct. "I already have both parents riding my tail feathers, bird boy," she drawled. "I don't need _you_ riding them as well."

She saw his teeth flash white in the murky shadows. "Kon's the one who should be riding your tail feathers."

"You think he's not?"

He dropped down beside her and gave her a look full of unholy deviltry and amusement. "Considering how you've got him wrapped around those long, elegant fingers of yours?" He flashed her a lopsided grin. "I think he is pretty much putty in your hands."

Raya clapped a hand to her face before groaning, "Et Tu, Wingicus?"

He snorted. "I've known you two were an item since the incident at Cadmus's facility last year."

"We weren't an item then, buzzard beak."

He reached up to cup her cheek. "No," he agreed with a slight nod. "You weren't. However, I knew it was only a matter of time before you would two would get together."

_This_, she thought as she nuzzled her cheek into his palm. She'd needed this, needed him in order to find her balance again. As steady and stable as her Kryptonian boyfriend, as supportive and wonderful as her geeky little brother, as protective and amazing as both her fathers, they just weren't this man. Richard Grayson was more than just her teacher or her partner. He was her best friend and partner. He had been ever since they were nine and tragedy took their worlds and flipped them upside down. It had been Bruce who'd introduced them, who'd given them each other to hold onto as they navigated the waves of grief assaulting them.

It was Bruce who turned them into a _family_. It had been them against the criminal underworld for the last fourteen years. They'd fought with each other and for each other. They'd supported the other through some of the darkest times the other could face. They were there for the good and not so good times. It was Dick who supported her desire to not only become the Fenix but an agent for the GCPD. Same as she'd supported his decision to become Nightwing and Officer Grayson for the BCPD. They were the support system each could rely upon, the confidante each could say anything too without fear of repercussions or that those things would be repeated. There was only one thing she couldn't tell this man, and that only because she refused to place her demons on top of his own.

"How did you know it would only be a matter of time before we'd end up as a couple?" She smiled up at him. "Even I wasn't sure we were going to end up dating."

"I know you." His lips curved at the corners. "I know you don't sacrifice yourself for someone unless you love them. And," he added with a twinkle in his eyes. "You glow whenever someone so much as mentions Conner by name."

"Oy," she sighed. "And here we thought we were keeping our relationship a secret from everybody."

"You managed to not tip off Barb," he teased.

She punched him lightly in the stomach. "Wouldn't tell her that if I was you."

He chuckled and pulled her in for a hug. "I'm already in hot water for having ordered her to remain at home until we figure out who your would-be assassin is." He jostled her playfully. "Speaking of which..."

"Bruce knows I'm here..."

"And he approved?" One brow lifted. "Or did you just wait until he left for patrol?"

She tucked her head beneath his chin. "It was a Wayne Foundation charity dinner..."

"Of course," he joked. "And it's still sneaky as all get out."

"He didn't exactly forbid me from coming out to Arkham and meeting with Nichols."

"But he did say he wanted you to wait until either he or Gordon could be with you, right?"

She fidgeted. "He may have said something about that," she allowed. "Yes."

He let out one long, heavy breath of air. "Rae..."

"I had to come," she interjected in a firm voice. "I can't fulfill my hours for my degree just by working at the GCPD or TA-ing for Professor Stubens. I have to actually work in a clinical setting. And Arkham is the most logical place for me to do that."

"What about Crane?" he asked. "Or the Joker? Both have their sights set on you."

_And each for different reasons_, he added silently.

"Crane hasn't seen me since I was fourteen," she replied. "Well, not without my mask at least. And he won't know me as Raya Kean. I was Raya Berkeley then."

He felt her body shudder in one long line of absolute disgust at the use of her full name. He soothed her disquiet by rubbing her back in slow circles.

"And what about the Joker?"

"What about him?"

"He targets you almost as much as he does Batman now, Rae."

She angled her head back to look at him. In the shadows of her office, her eyes glowed with green fire. "That's because I stopped the sick son of a bitch from killing Tim the same as he did Jason."

"Speaking of Jas..."

"No."

Both brows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"We are not discussing what happened between me and Jason."

"Rae..."

"I said _no_, Wing."

The notes of steel in her tone so reminded him of Bruce that it made him smile. He caved, though because he figured she'd been nagged enough and didn't need him pecking at her, too. He turned his head; rest his lips against her temple.

"Fine," he said lightly. "We'll pretend he didn't confront you on yours and Conner's apartment balcony and that he didn't hurt you if it makes you feel better."

Raya just heaved a heavy sigh and banded her arms tightly around his waist.

...

"It's her..." the Scarecrow hissed in his ear. "She's Berkeley's granddaughter."

_Yes, yes I know she is_, Crane replied. He stood watching the two heroes, his limpid eyes shining with glee behind the lenses of his glasses.

"We must capture her. We must have our revenge upon her!"

_Not yet_, he soothed his seething other side. _Not while she's guarded by Nightwing_.

"We must get her when she is alone."

_Oh, and I know just the way in which to ensure that we get her alone_.

"Do tell?" The Scarecrow purred.

_Robin_, Crane replied. _Her greatest fear is failing to save the Boy Blunder. So if our partner can manage to get her hands on the boy_...

"Miss Berkeley will fall right into our clutches."

_And we will have our vengeance and Dr. Berkeley's formula handed to us_.

He laughed, long and low before scuttling off down the hallway towards his office.

...

The _Aces &amp; Eights_ seemed more like a ghost town that night than it did one of the East Ends more busiest nightspots. This, in and of itself, would be something Jason would have considered as an almost unheard of experience. That night, however, he found the lack of people chugging watered down whiskey as if it was _Dom Perignon_, laughing at dumb ass jokes, bitching about their asshole bosses, or tossing lame insults at each other while they shot pool to suit his mood.

He was seated at a table in the back of the bar, nursing a cup of what tasted like week old coffee. It had been over two weeks since the incident with Raya on her penthouse balcony and he was no closer to understanding _now_ what the hell had happened any more than he'd understood why it happened _then_. Why he'd attacked her as he had made absolutely no sense to him whatsoever. He was in the wrong, and he knew it. He'd been anticipating either the old man or the golden boy tracking him down and beating his stupid ass senseless for what he'd done to the dark-haired girl.

And yet, neither man had searched him out in order to deliver the ass kicking he expected and which he knew he royally deserved. That they hadn't come to find him surprised him considering how he'd left enough breadcrumbs for even a two-year-old to follow. Jason sat back and shut his eyes. Instantly, he saw the way Raya had looked right before she'd snapped back to herself and come at him with her claws unsheathed. Guilt crawled through his belly like the worms that had feasted upon his flesh while he'd been lying in that coffin. Accusations screeched at him like a band of hoot owls, telling him he owed her some sort of a half-ass apology at least for what he'd done. Jason had a feeling that getting anywhere near the woman at that point was going to be about as easy as walking barefoot across lava. Not only was Drake keeping close to her side, but Kent had left the super mutt to keep watch over her, as well.

Quite by accident, _well_, he corrected with a grimace, as he'd been ransacking her apartment in search of clues, he'd discovered that Raya Kean was actually _Special Agent_ Kean. She served as one of the GCPD's criminal profilers. That, itself, was not a surprise. She'd only been trained by Bruce in how to profile scumbags from the time she'd been ten-years-old. Approaching her at police headquarters was not the sanest plan he'd ever come up with. Least of all since he was wanted for no less than a few dozen murders and other criminal activities. He honestly didn't see there being any better option available to him.

Way he saw it?

He needed to talk to the woman.

This was the way.

End of story.

Jason took a swallow of his now tepid coffee, grimacing as the bitter liquid slid down his throat to commingle with the ooze percolating in his belly. His phone dinged above the blare of heavy metal coming from the jukebox in the corner. _It's_ _about damn time ya got back ta me_. He'd been waiting four hours for his CI inside the GCPD, a kid he'd known growing up, to get back to him. He set his cup of stale coffee down and reached over to tap the screen with one long finger, a smirk twisting one corner of his lips. He made a low hum deep in his throat as he took note of the text's short and simple message: [she's due at the precinct in a half hour for her shift]

Now _that_ was something Jason found very, very interesting.

Weekends in Gotham had always been the most fun when he'd been Robin and not just because he was allowed to spend his nights carousing Gotham with his dark mentor and adoptive father. The bad guys, the average, and everyday sort of scum, not the sleaze bags like Riddler and Penguin, all tended to come out and play on the weekends. That Raya was working at police headquarters rather than out patrolling one of the districts suggested Bruce had either grounded her (something he could see the old man doing), made some changes in the team's infrastructure (now that didn't sound right), or planted her inside the GCPD to act as a sort of secondary agent (now _that_, he realized, sounded like Bruce all over).

Either way, he realized that _Agent_ Kean being regulated to a desk job worked to _his_ advantage. He'd ghost his cell number as Drake's, send her a text asking her to come out onto the roof where the Batsignal was, say he was sorry for being such an asshole, admit he was wrong for doing what he did and promise he'd never go near her again before leaving. Five minutes tops. That's all it was gonna take to end the guilt burrowing down deep inside his soul. He could handle that.

Right?

_"_Wrong," he heard his sixteen-year-old self whisper in his left ear. "Yanno, ya ain't gonna feel any better even after ya apologize ta the hottie."

_And why's that_? he asked himself. Only silently did he acknowledge how he was having a conversation with his past dead self.

He heard a snort and then his younger self-snarked, "Really think _I'm sorry_ is gonna be good enough ta explain away the hurt that ya caused her? Dude, c'mon. It's so not enough."

_No_, _it's not enough_, was his disgruntled reply. _But it will have to be 'cause it ain't like I gotta soul ta sell here_. He pushed back his chair and stood, stretching back muscles that had gotten a bit stiff after slouching for so long in a hard wooden chair. He dropped a five on the table, winked at the woman tending bar and turned to leisurely stroll from the bar. Not a one of the regular drunks or beatniks who occupied the bar made a move to hinder his exit from their fine establishment. If anything, they looked only too happy to see he was finally leaving.

A smirk twisted the corners of his long lips as he shoved open the door and stepped out into the cold night air. It wasn't like he could blame them for being nervous around him. He had left a rather massive and bloody trail behind him during his one-man crusade to clean up the streets of Gotham. _Then again_, he thought with another smirk, it wasn't as if he was known for ever having played well with others. Even during his tenure as Robin, he'd struggled with tempering his volatile temper and proclivity for delivering bloody mayhem upon those he brought to justice.

The neon sign above the door sputtered on and off, its iron lettering bent at unnatural angles. He didn't care to imagine just how it might have gotten so twisted. Traffic in this part of the East End was absolutely non-existent for this time of night. Park Avenue was where the districts seedier bars and night clubs were all located. The road that _Aces_ sat on was one-way, the cobblestone street too narrow to allow cars to travel in both directions and lined with dozens of dives just as bad as the one he'd vacated.

Most of Gotham's streets were like this, considering how most of them were well over two hundred years old. _Then again,_ he thought as he strolled down the street with his hands jammed in his coat pockets, most of the city tended to still favor the old style of architecture; there was more than one home or business which carried a hint of the infamous Gothic Revival style favored at Gotham's founding. Jason's footsteps echoed off the grimy brick walls. Frightened rats scurried across the cobblestone to find safety beneath boxes dumped outside the back door of a shop that had its windows and doors boarded up. A scruffy looking tabby screeched as it was startled out of where it had been feasting upon something behind a pile of garbage. Broken glass, cigarette butts, crack pipes and other dank debris crunched beneath his boots.

However, Jason paid none of it any attention as he made his way over to where he'd stashed his bike. For him, these filthy streets were _home_. He had been born and raised on these streets, knew every twist, turn and dark alley by sight and sound. He was more comfortable here than he'd ever been roaming the streets of the Gotham Heights district, in fact. Here he didn't have to worry about what society thought of him. Here he didn't have to think about the family who'd forgotten him.

He walked over to where a rusty metal dumpster, its paint peeling, stood at the end of the alley. Fresh snow had fallen in the last few hours and the lid of the container was covered in a crystallized blanket of white. Rats scurried around amidst the trash, seeking refuge from the arctic temperatures in the refuse. The entire area smelled like rotting, stinking garbage. Jason undid a latch and opened one side of the container, which hit the ground with a loud _bang_. A thick layer of snow coating the cobblestone muffled the majority of the sound. Hidden inside the rusty metal shell, however, was a black Kawasaki sports bike he'd customized himself. He settled on the seat of the bike before hitting the throttle and firing up the bikes engine. A thought occurred to him as he pulled on his helmet: maybe she'd arrest his dumb ass and dump him into a cell. _Be exactly what I deserve._

He glanced at the tower in the distance. Its huge W was a shining beacon that seemed to be calling out to him, begging him to give up, give in, and come home. For a moment, his expression wavered beneath his helmet. Then the anger and bitterness returned and he gunned the engine, speeding out of the alley and across the silent city streets.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.


	12. He's Your What?

Things were rather quiet in the Major Crimes Unit that night. Most of the on-duty crew was still in attendance at a press conference the mayor was holding at Gotham Hall to announce the building of a new super-maximum prison in the middle of the city. Those who weren't downtown were scattered throughout the rest of Gotham's boroughs and districts, handling a handful of petty B&amp;E's, breaking up a couple of gang fights, investigating an odd homicide down at the Gotham Docks, busting up a prostitution ring, raiding one of the Falcone's safe houses, or just keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble going on in the city, period. Only two people were there, in the main bullpen at that moment, a rookie detective named Floyd Saunders and Raya.

Saunders had lucked out and gotten tasked with being the duty officer of the day. As jobs went, it was an easy and the safest one. All he was required to do for the next eight hours was take phone calls and direct them to whoever the hell they were supposed to go. It was easy as baking a frozen pie in his mind. So easy, in fact, that even a moron could do the job. Saunders was more than happy with being that idiot, too. He smirked as he glanced over at the boards, nodded, satisfied that all was quiet in the city before he reached over to flip on the office television. He turned to the all-news channel and sat down in a swivel chair near the row of silent telephones. Vicki Vale was standing on the steps of Gotham Hall and speaking above the buzz of the crowd.

"This is Vicki Vale reporting live from downtown Gotham. In just a few moments, Mayor Hill will be live on stage to explain his controversial decision to build a super-prison in the very heart of Gotham. This decision... "

"Is dumb as hell," Saunders grumbled right before he switched over to the ballgame. He glanced over at Raya, who was busily tapping away at the keyboard of her computer while staring at a file she had open on her left. He studied her for a moment in silence, admiring the way the light from the computer monitor reflected off the silver frames of her glasses. He'd been steadily working his way up to asking the agent on a date for the last four months. Only the fact that she was the bosses kid and Gordon somehow always around when he worked up the guts to ask her out, kept him from doing so. He was bound and determined that he was gonna ask her out on a date tonight, though. Gordon was gonna be out of the office for the next few hours taking care of the mayor's crap and there was nobody else around who could interrupt him. He decided to start small and work his way up.

"Hey, you agree with me about the super-prison being the dumbest idea our mayor has ever had, right, Kean?"

Raya glanced up from the screen, her eyes thoughtful behind the lenses of her glasses. Then she said slowly, "Well, a new prison complex is a good idea, in theory, Saunders." She sat back in her chair, scooping that long mane of wildly curling hair up into a messy bun that she kept in place with a pen. "Arkham isn't big enough to contain all the inmates after the flood last year destroyed over sixty percent of the grounds and facilities. And," she added with a sigh, "Blackgate has been slowly crumbling down around us for the last ten years."

"Well, yeah, I know that. And you're right about us needing to build a new complex in which to house the freaks in," Saunders said while rubbing the back of his neck and grinning at her. "But putting it up in the heart of the city?" He shook his head. "Ain't really a smart idea if you ask me."

"Well." Her lips curved. "Mayor's under the impression that it's the best idea he's ever had."

"Yeah," Detective Harvey Bullock stated as he came lumbering into the room, "well, lemme tell ya one thing about our mayor, kiddo."

Raya glanced over at the veteran detective, her lips trembling. "And what's that, Mr. Bullock?"

The ghost of a smile creaked across Bullock's lips before he rumbled in that gravelly baritone of his, "Guy's frequently full of shit."

Saunders chortled even as Raya snorted a laugh.

"Don't let Macavoy hear you saying that," she advised the veteran detective. "You know how much he worships Mayor Hill."

"Macavoy is as big a moron as the mayor is," he said as he perched on the edge of her desk. "He can't smell the bullshit because his nose is crammed up Hill's ass."

"You'd think the two were knocking boots with the way Macavoy goes on about Hill," Saunders joked.

Raya snorted. "Macavoy is married to the job," she told them. "And probably has not been on a date since his days at the Academy."

"Speaking of dates..." Saunders began but Bullock cut a look at him that shut him up instantly.

"Kid's spoken for." His growl reminded Saunders of that of a bulldog. "Her boyfriend's pals with her kid brother, in fact."

It was a clearly stated warning: _Back off_.

Saunders flipped back around in his chair, annoyed by Bullock's interference, but wisely choosing _not_ to confront the veteran detective. Or have the muscled guy he saw hanging out with that kid, Drake, earlier that afternoon pummel him into dust for hitting on his girl.

...

Soon as Saunders turned back around, Bullock shifted his attention back to the woman staring inquisitively up at him. He'd known what Saunders was about as soon as he'd seen him engage the sprite in conversation. And he'd immediately put a stop to it. He tipped back his fedora so he could get a better look at her, taking in her drawn, waxy features.

"Youse doing okay, kiddo?"

Raya stared into his eyes, her own darkly thoughtful before she finally nodded. "I'm doing all right, Mr. Bullock."

"Ain't no need ta be so formal with me, sprocket."

Her lips twitched, and a hint of mischief flickered in the depths of her eyes. "I thought you were uncomfortable with me calling you Uncle Harvey here in the precinct?"

"If'n I'm gonna be puttin' pups like Saunders in his place," he grumbled. "Then I think lettin' the pups know just who it is that I am to ya is in order."

Raya gave him a perplexed look. "Why do you have to put the boys in their place? None of them have ever been disrespectful or treated me as if I'm not one of them."

Bullock just heaved a soft sigh. He tended to forget how the sprite didn't see herself in the way normal women tended to. She had absolutely no understanding of her own attractiveness to the male and female species. Not only was she a looker, but she also had the bank account and the type of social connections that a poor schmo looking to better themselves would want.

"As much as youse try to deny it, youse are a tempting morsel to the boys."

"I'm not the only girl on the force," she said dryly. "Unlike the," a pause was punctuated with a smirk, "_old days_ as you call them, there are plenty of women now working for the GCPD."

"No, youse ain't and yes there are plenty of dames on the force now," he agreed with a nod. "But youse are the richest one."

She made a face. "So... it's less _me_ they want and more Grandfather's money." She sniffed her disgust. "Lovely."

"Youse got a good guy, sprocket."

"You approve of Conner?" She lifted one eyebrow. "And how much did my uncle pay you to say that?"

"Not a dime," he told her with a wink. She breathed out a laugh but didn't reply so Bullock said, "Speaking of your uncle." He reached up to pull out the toothpick he'd stuck between his teeth. "Why's he got youse riding a desk tonight? Thought you were ordered to remain at Wayne Manor until that shooter could be found."

She pulled a face. "I am under house arrest and on official leave until the shooter is found." She indicated the file next to her. "But I have some paperwork that I need to finish for the O'Halloran case. I'm the assigned agent and will have to testify still."

Bullock grunted and lifted the mug of coffee he'd brought with him. "When are youse due ta testify in court?"

She reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "Donnelly says she will likely call me Tuesday or Wednesday."

"Youse ready for this?"

She nodded. "I have studied the case file frontwards and backward just as Uncle Jim suggested I do. I have gone over the case notes, the crime scene photos, listened again to the witness accounting of the events that occurred. I have watched the in-take interview from when O'Halloran got brought in for questioning a dozen times now at least."

"And?"

"And it is clear to me that John O'Halloran was not in the middle of an en bloc blackout caused by a large consumption of alcohol at the time he murdered his girlfriend."

Bullock gave her a look full of quiet pride. "Defense ain't got a case what with youse blowin' their blackout theory outta the water."

"They never had a case," she drawled. "Guy's a murdering bastard and going to get put away for being a murdering bastard." Her lips twisted into a smirk. "Just as he deserves to be."

Bullock chuckled before taking a swig of his now lukewarm coffee. He was about to ask her about how school was going when a white dog that looked like it was some type of a hybrid version of a Wolfhound, stood up from where it had obviously been napping on the opposite side of her desk. The dog stretched its mammoth body, every muscle rippling with a lethal grace. He looked up at Bullock with a mixture of curiosity and something that Harvey didn't quite think of as _doggie_ intelligence shining in the depths of his chocolate colored eyes. However, the detective found he could only sit there and gape at the massive hound.

"Kiddo?" he finally managed to croak. "Who's this?"

"Harvey Bullock," she trilled happily, "meet Krypto."

Bullock ran a hand over his face, felt the thick stubble scrap his palm. "Youse coulda warned me that ya were bringing your dog in ta work with youse."

"Krypto is not my _pet_," Raya said even as Krypto rolled his eyes and released a heavy sigh. "He's my guardian actually."

"Your... guardian?" Bullock asked weakly.

"Yup," she confirmed cheerfully. "He's my guardian."

"Who decided that youse needed Cujo here ta protect youse?"

"Lemme see," she chirped. "That would have been Conner, Dick, Tim, Bruce, and Uncle Jim." The hound let out a soft yip. "Oh, yes, and Alfred and Barbara."

Bullock grunted but found he wasn't overly surprised. "I'm taking they decided this because of the threats Berkeley has been making against youse recently?"

"Well," she said. "That and because of the incident at the school a few days ago." She grimaced. "It was a mutually reached decision that _seven_ of the _eight_ of you turned into law right before I was allowed to come into the station tonight."

"Keeping youse safe is important, sprocket."

"I know," she said in a long breath. "Believe me, I know."

Krypto placed his head in her lap then, whining softly and quite pathetically in both their opinions. Raya harrumphed at the superdog's blatantly manipulative tactic but scratched him behind the ear as he wanted. The dog let out a sound of sheer delight and utter contentment, his tongue lolling out on one side. Harvey thought he looked more like a family pet than he did an actual guard dog at that moment. Yet Bullock knew the six men would not have chosen the dog for guard duty if he wasn't capable of performing it. Realizing she was in safe... _paws _for the moment, he pushed to his feet, groaning softly as ancient knees creaked and moaned.

"I'ma go and type up my report on the Dockers case," he told her. "Soon as I'm done, I'll walk youse and," he paused to look over at the content dog. "_Krypto_ to your car."

"That sounds fine with me." There was a corroborating bark from the dog. "And with Krypto."

Harvey ambled off to his office then, leaving Raya alone with Krypto. She glanced down at the content superdog. "You're incorrigible, yanno that?"

Krypto gave her a look that said he had absolutely _no_ idea what she was talking about. Then he nudged her hand, _chuffing_ softly. Her lips curved.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered. "I know what it is you want, you dopey mutt."

She was still running her hand over that soft fur when her phone chirped five minutes later. She glanced at it and frowned with her curiosity. Then she reached over and picked the vibrating phone up in one hand. Glancing at the screen, she saw that the text had been sent by Tim. She _hummed_ softly as she slid her thumb across the screen in one smooth and effortless motion in order to read his message.

_[Are you busy_?] it read.

She rolled her eyes at that bit of stupidity. Then she grinned before tapping the screen with a finger and text back to him: [_Yes. This is my robot self-responding because I can't come to the phone right now.]_

It was silent for all of ten seconds. Then the phone pulsated in her palm. She glanced at the screen and saw one word had been sent back: [_haha._] Then the phone vibrated once more: [_Can you come up to the roof? Need to talk. Important.]_

She _hummed_ again. Then she sent back: [_Give me five minutes. Did you bring coffee and Oreo's? Or did you forget like usual?_]

[_Forgot. Sorry. Make it up to you next time._]

Raya just rolled her eyes. "Ya been saying that for months, Caped Blunder." Then she sent back, [_I'll forgive you because I love you. But you so owe me_.]

[_Just hurry up._]

That had her eyebrows shooting up. It'd have to be important for Tim to ask her to hurry. Worry that something was wrong had her pushing her chair back and getting to her feet. "C'mon, Krypto," she said to the superdog. "Let's go see what's wrong with Robin."

She didn't have to ask twice.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.


	13. Because You're Mine

Jason slid his phone into his jacket pocket after sending the last text and settled back in the shadows created by the corner of the building to wait for Raya to join him. For one brief moment, he allowed himself to think about the brief conversation he had with the woman he emotionally shredded less than a few weeks ago.

It had been... _nice_.

_No_, he realized then. It had been more than merely _nice_. He had actually found himself enjoying the easy-going, back-and-forth banter that had been going on between them. _Well_, he mentally corrected, _between her and who she assumes to have been Drake_. He was almost sorry it ended when it had. It was rare when he allowed himself the freedom of conversing with anybody without there being a handful of automatic weapons between them. Friends were people that Jason had in short supply. He could count on one hand how many friends he actually had.

Jason wasn't so screwed up, though, that he didn't know how that sort of teasing commentary tended to happen between people who were longtime partners and friends. He knew that sort of playful, tongue-in-cheek sort of joking happened between siblings. On those extremely rare times when he had partnered with Dick for a training exercise or case, they would make wise and trade quips with each other. He could even recall times, as infrequent as they had been when he and Bruce had engaged in the same sort of jocularity. He suspected he might have enjoyed the same with Raya, as well. _And with Drake_, he added as an afterthought as he looked out over the glittering cityscape.

Again, Jason was reminded about all of the things that masochistic sociopath in clown makeup had taken from him. It hadn't just been his life that the Joker stole from him in that warehouse in Ethiopia. Oh, hell no. What the Joker had taken away from him had been so much more than just his physical life. He had also taken away every one of his hopes, all of his dreams, every ounce of his optimism, and what little faith he had in things like family. Even more importantly - and this was the accelerant reigniting the never-quite-gone hatred simmering deep with him - he had taken away any opportunity he might have had to actually be _close_ to someone in his adoptive family.

Jason Todd could admit to being bold, brash and reckless. Stupid, though? No fucking way. He could now see a kindred spirit in Raya Kean. He could see they shared a similar backstory, that they had a common background and life theme. Inside Raya was that same fiery well of secrets that burned inside of him. She was broken, damaged, and just as screwed up as him. What demons danced around inside her head were as dark and as vicious as those doing the hokey-pokey inside his.

He hadn't - or maybe it was that he hadn't wanted to - seen it before, but he could see now how Raya would have been another partner he could have relied upon as he had depended upon Batman, Nightwing, and Batgirl. Had Raya not been away at the time Bruce brought him home and started to train him, had the Joker not decided he was gonna push Batman into breaking his "golden rule" by killing a Robin, had he not been an impatient kid wanting to do right by his mom, he mighta had the sort of relationship with her that Drake clearly enjoyed.

Hell, there were so many mighta's that he might have enjoyed with Raya had that goddamn clown not gotten in the way.

He mighta found a fellow survivor who would understand what it meant to be a grown-up kid.

He mighta found himself a friend in which he could confide each and every one of his hopes (what few he still had), his dreams (which were more like nightmares), and fears (and he only had a bazillion of those).

He mighta found himself having an older sister he could go to in moments of doubt and confusion.

He mighta found somebody who he could explain all the bullshit in his head, too.

He mighta found someone who woulda just loved him because he was him.

But no.

All those mighta's didn't come to be. Why? Because that goddamn clown had come along and taken that option, as well as his life, away from him. Jason felt a crushing weight drop down upon him, stooping his shoulders and causing his knees to nearly buckle. His head started to spin in a swirling, chaotic dance. For a moment he thought he was going to humiliate himself by either puking all over, or even worse, pass out. He bore down, shoved the gray fog lurking at the fringe of his visual field away and swallowed back the bile that surged into his mouth.

A moan was ripped from him a second before white-hot agony shrieked through every inch of his body. Suddenly, an image exploded behind his eyes. He could see his sixteen-year-old self on the cold ground of that warehouse, blood forming a black pool beneath his battered and bruised body while that damn bomb the Joker had set ticked slowly to zero. He could hear a faint _tick_ _tick_ right next to his ear and almost turned his head to make sure there wasn't any sort of little device about to send him back to kingdom come.

Suddenly, Jason could see the Joker standing over his younger self, the crowbar he had used to beat him with still coated in his blood held in one gloved hand. A sick grin twisted those mangled lips. Again he heard that loquacious voice cheerfully telling him to be a good boy and finish his homework, before saying, as he casually strolled towards the exit, "and hey, please tell the big man I said... hello!"

With a vitriolic curse, Jason shoved the memory to the back of his mind, not wanting to follow that thread to where he knew it would go. He refused to allow the Joker to have any more control over him than he already had. Shaking, his mind and stomach churning, he stumbled over to the searchlight standing silently a few feet from him. In the silence of the night, his every breath was like the hiss of steam being released by a vent. His vision blurred and he slammed his hand against the emblem fused to the steel casing, seeking comfort and solace from that iced over piece of metal. For almost two decades that Krieg spotlight had projected an ominous bat-winged shape onto the night sky. It was a signal to the people of Gotham that they were safe, that there were guardians watching over them, and that the bad guys would not sweep them up in the wake of their rampaging chaos.

Not so long as they had Batman around to protect them.

Despite his every attempt, Jason felt a deep pool of longing swirl to life inside him. Even now, after everything that had happened between the old man and him, there was nothing he'd like more than to rest his head upon that broad shoulder and have that larger than life figure tell him in that velvety rasp about "why" he had allowed it to happen.

_Yanno, I thought_... he punctuated his internal musings with a long, drawn out sigh. _I really thought I'd be the last person you'd have allowed that son of a bitch to hurt. And when he did_... his fingers clenched upon that burning emblem, seeking strength from that absent figure. From his one-time mentor. His partner. His so-called _father_.

_It's not like I am talking about killing vermin like the Penguin or Black Mask, _he thought with the familiar sting of bitterness_. I'm talking about_ Him. _I am talking about killing the Joker. And doing it because... well, because he took _me _away from you_. _Because_...

Before he could finish that thought, the door to the stairwell popped open, disrupting his inner dialogue and scattering his already fragmented thoughts to the four winds. Jason glanced over to see Raya, with the wonder mutt right on her heels, stepping out onto the roof. She stopped as soon as she saw him, her face and body instantly going as taut as a grapnel line. Her expression relaxed into a kind of intense concentration, almost like a sense of doubt, and she paused for a moment to consider him, her hand lightly resting on the door. _This_, he realized with a slight pang, _this is the social mask she wears whenever she's with someone who ain't inside her inner circle_.

For a moment, just one, he found himself desperately wanting to be one of those privileged few.

Then her jaw set and ignoring Krypto, who issued one long and low growl deep in his throat when he spied Jason, she crossed towards him, her heels making short, clipped sounds that were in perfect sync with the dull throbbing that was going on behind his eyes.

"I am not up for another round of verbal warfare with you, Jason," she stated in a cool, crisp voice. "So if that's why you're here? I'll ask that you go ahead and take your leave. Now."

Jason ignored the acrimonious taste in his mouth, shook his head, and said quietly, "I ain't here ta fight with ya."

"Then why are you here?" It wasn't asked in a demanding tone, but there was enough grit to let him know she wouldn't tolerate any gruff out of him that night. "And why did you ghost your number as Tim's?"

She stopped a few inches from him and planted her fists on her hips. Jason took a moment to study, _really_ study this woman he had so cruelly hurt. At that moment she reminded him of Wonder Woman. Though Raya was much more delicately built than the Amazonian Princess, she still shimmered with a legion of that same feminine power, grace, and pride. Yet, there were cracks in this woman's armor that were not in Wonder Woman's. Underneath her fiery facade was a woman haunted by the same things he was. Things he, low-life bastard and all around asshole that he was, had drug up and made her relive because he'd been so engrossed in his own bullshit that he couldn't see what he was doing to her. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and slowly turned to fully face her.

"Would ya have come out here if'n I texted ya?" His fingers curled upon the glass. "Or would ya have told me ta go ta hell?"

_Where I belong_, he added silently. Krypto, having taken up his position as protector, merely _chuffed_ a sigh while rolling his eyes. Jason imagined the mutt was either calling him an asshole or thinking he was a brainless moron for even asking such a ridiculous question.

"Yes, I would have." Her voice was hardly above a whisper. Yet Jason found he had no trouble hearing her. "I would have come out here if you had asked me to come out here."

Now _that_ actually managed to surprise him. And annoyed the shit out of him for reasons he couldn't readily explain.

"For the love of God, why?"

She frowned her confusion. "Why, what?"

"Why would ya come out here after what I did to ya?" he barely managed to croak the question. "Chrissakes, woman, don't ya realize that I coulda jumped ya soon as ya came through them doors?"

"No, you wouldn't have." There was so much confidence in her voice, upon her face that it only made the demons in his head laugh even harder. "You would never attack me, Jason. Not physically."

_Is she off her rocker_? He wondered wildly. How could she know he wouldn't have attacked her the second she came through those doors? She didn't know him from Job.

"Yeah, I coulda," he growled. "So, I ask ya, why risk it by comin' out here ta meet me?"

"Jason," she said quietly. "You're family. That's why I'd have come out here had you asked me."

He scoffed at that. "I was never a member..."

"Yes," she interjected in a tone that suggested she'd accept no argument from him about this fact. "_You_ are. _You're _his son, too."

_You're his son_, _too_, she said. Not _you were his son until you screwed it all up by being a complete shithead_. As if the old man even still considered him his son after all the bodies he had left in his wake. Yet, something in her words ignited a spark that caused the dark entity festering inside him to shrink back into the shadows. And he felt a beat of the heart he had long thought to be shriveled up and useless. His mouth, always set on automatic fire, though, spit, "I was never a member of this family. Not in the same way you and the golden boy are. Hell." His smirk didn't quite manage to cover the hurt he heard sizzling in his voice. "Even Drake is treated as more of a son than I ever was."

"Is that what you think?" Her face softened as she stared at him, her lower lip quivering and causing unease to shoot through him. In the shadows surrounding them, her eyes seemed to glow. Deeply green, intensely sad. And swirling with a tidal wave of understanding and pity. "Is that what you honestly think?" She took a step closer to him. "You think that Bruce doesn't love you as much as he loves us?" Something must have reflected in his face because he saw her eyes well with tears. "Oh, Jas…" she murmured. "That's so not tru-"

He cut her off with a hoarse, "Yes, it is." He made to turn away, not wanting to see her shed any tears for him, but something, some sorta invisible force, prevented him from making the move. "I'm not part of your family."

"No, that is not the truth. It's so not even close to the truth."

Jason scoffed but remained silent. She took another step to him, close enough that he could make out the shapes of the earrings at her ears. _Bats and robins_, he mused. _How fitting._ "When Bruce brought you home? When he took you in? When he chose to give you the mantle of Robin? You became a member of this family."

"Right."

"You are his son, Jason," she insisted stubbornly. "You will always be his son."

"Sure I am," he sneered the words at her. "Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day it'll be true."

"I know it is true now."

"Then why were his parting words to me after our last confrontation of regret for having made me Robin?" He hurled the words at her, damning her for reminding him of those words, and damning Bruce for having spoken them in the first place. Mostly he just damned himself for even still giving a shit. "He saw _me _as some type of a goddamn failure...as something to be ashamed of."

"And just like you always do, Jason…" She glowered at him. "You _heard_ what it was that Bruce had to say to you." Now she glared. "But you didn't bother to _listen _to what his actual goddamn words to you _were._"

Her eyes were hard as glass. Yet, it was the sight of her sympathy that had his jaw clenching, his fists bunching, his fury igniting into that familiar cold haze. _Pity_ was the last goddamn thing he wanted from the woman. Just what it was he did want? He didn't rightly know. He contented himself by merely glaring at her, one long and frustrated stare to let her know just what he thought about her pity and where exactly she could shove it. She merely fixed him with a look that spelled _do something_ in huge green letters.

He stepped closer, only a few inches taller, but still subtly intimidating, and snarled, "And I don't need some pretty, sharp-tongued little kitten lecturing me about the differences between _hearing_ and _listening_."

Raya was not about to be cowed by him again. Nor did she need Krypto, who instantly bristled when he stepped closer to her, to fight her battle for her. She merely raised both her hands and slapped them against his chest, hard enough that he could actually feel it through his chest armor.

"Do you know why I'd have come out here if you had asked me?" she growled at him. "It's because _you_ are _his_, and _he_ is _mine_. So I'd have come out here if you had messaged me, Jason. I'd have come out here even knowing that it was a trap."

"Again," he sneered. "Why?"

She smacked her hands against his chest again. "Because you stupid, emotionally crippled, mouthy, moody, stubborn jackass, _you're_ mine."

The woman's logic made absolutely no sense to him. _Why would she willingly set herself up to be hurt_? He found himself wondering as he stared down into her flushed face.

"Easy, ya dumb ass." It was his younger self now that whispered to him. '"Cause she figures that she failed us as much as the old man did when we died. And she figures she deserves whatever ya do ta her because of it."

_That's ridiculous_, he told his younger self. _She wasn't even there_.

"Don't matter ta her."

No, it wouldn't matter to a woman like Raya Kean. Jason was beginning to see more and more just how much like Bruce this woman really was. Oh, there were differences. There were lots of differences, in fact. However, the core principles she had were all his. It wasn't a matter of her being a good soldier or the perfect protégé, oh no. These were principles she'd been born with and that Bruce, and he assumed Commissioner Gordon, had helped refine. No, their similarities went much deeper and had been acquired during the long years they had been together. _As both partner and mentor and father and daughter._

"Now," he heard her saying, "you never answered me about why you are here."

Jason stood there swimming in a sea of uncertainty and doubt. Then he muttered, "I came ta apologize," without looking at her. The truth was he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Because to look at her was to realize all over again just how much of a bastard he was for having hurt her.

"I don't want an apology."

"Too bad," he didn't growl it. No, he was simply too exhausted to snap at her. "'Cause that's what you're getting."

She tossed her head back and sniffed. Loudly. "How about you explain why you attacked me instead."

"The hell of it is?" He hid a grimace. "I dunno why I went after ya like I did. I've been trying ta figure it out for the last few weeks and I ain't come anywhere close ta having an answer that explains why I did what I did to ya."

"Ever stopped to think that it's because you are tired of being alone in your pain and suffering?" She spoke the question gently. Still, he scoffed. Pride wouldn't let him even consider that she might be right. Or to request the comfort he knew she'd give if he but asked for it.

"Jason," she continued in that same hushed tone, "you have a deep well of hurt inside of you. And you keep lashing out at me, Bruce, Dick, and Tim because you want someone else to hurt as badly as you do. You make _us_ victims because _you_ are still a victim."

Even as his brain told him to stop, to shut up, his rapid-fire mouth had him spitting, "Yeah? And whattaya know about being a victim, Raya?"

"There goes the idea we ain't stupid." He heard his younger self sigh. He ignored the obnoxious little shit. He'd already worked around to the fact that he was a dumb bastard. Didn't need his younger self-pointing it out to him.

"I was the victim of a private war fought between my parents until the night my mother was murdered." The tone of her voice warned him to tread lightly. "Same as you are the victim of the war fought between the woman who raised you and your father. And," she lifted her eyes to his. "Same as you are the victim of a vindictive clown who decided to make you his greatest masterpiece just so he could rip the ground out from beneath Batman and make him break his golden rule."

He ignored the voice that whispered to him about how the "Hottie ain't stupid. She's pretty much got us figured out," and said instead, "Timbo says your pops is the one who murdered your mom. He tellin' the truth?"

Her lower lip trembled, once. Her only outward sign of how much his question had rattled her. "Yes," she finally said, nodding. "Yes, he is."

"So why's he still out and able to terrorize ya?"

* * *

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.


	14. There's Nothing I Won't Do

At eleven that night, Bruce Wayne thumbed the off button on the television remote and the television screen he and Alfred had been watching winked out. Alfred slowly turned to face him.

"I take it that you will not be spending a quiet evening at home, after all, sir?"

Bruce flicked a mildly amused look over at the butler. "Have I ever had a quiet evening at home, Alfred?"

Alfred heaved a soft sigh before shaking his head.

"Not since Miss Raya and Master Richard were very small, I'm afraid."

The slight wistful note in the staid and proper butler's voice was not lost upon Bruce. He, too, missed when his oldest children had been little and their problems simple ones that he could fix without the need for the cape and cowl. However...

"I cannot rewind time and make them nine again, Alfred."

Alfred released another long sigh before saying, with great feeling in every syllable, "A pity, sir. You were quite a bit happier when they were that young."

_So were you, old friend_, Bruce mused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Alfred had become surrogate mother, father, uncle, confidante, and mentor to each of the children he had brought into his dark and dangerous world. All of his children saw and treated Alfred as a member of the family. _Even Jason looks to him for advice and comfort_. He pushed back the wealth of dark memories that arose whenever he thought about Jason and muttered, "That's because they needed _me_ more than they needed _Batman_, Alfred."

If there was a wistful note in his voice, he chose to ignore it.

"They still need you more than they do Batman," Alfred corrected gently. "_You_ are their father, Master Bruce. Not Batman."

"Only Batman can stop these assassins from killing her and Conner, Alfred."

Alfred gave a slow nod of his head. "Yes, that may well be true, sir. However, it is not Batman Miss Raya or Masters Timothy, Jason and Richard needs. He's not the one who soothes away any of their hurts or comforts them when they are sad. Nor," he added before Bruce could interject a denial, "is it Batman that any of them comes to when they need help or advice."

"I know, but-"

"It is not Batman they fight for, Master Bruce. It is _you_."

Bruce mulled over the butler's words as he made his way over to the grandfather clock situated along one wall of his study. Alfred _did_ have a point, he realized. Three of his four children did come to _him _more than they did Batman. Even in spite of the rockiness of his relationship with Dick, he did still come to him whenever he needed a spot of advice or some help in figuring out a particularly challenging case. _And she tends to come to me whenever she's feeling sad or lonely_. Yet, Bruce found that he missed the days when Dick and Raya had been small children and merely needed him to keep their nightmares at bay.

His world, as well as this house, hadn't been so lonely when Raya and Dick had been children. They had filled his life, and this rambling mansion, with joy. _And love_. Now they both had others that they turned to whenever their skeletons started bursting out of the closet. He had long ago reconciled and come to terms with Dick and Barbara's relationship. Raya and Conner's on the other hand? He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that one. On one hand, he knew the young Kryptonian to be more than worthy of Raya's affections.

He had watched and even had a heavy hand in Conner growing from a brash and bold youth into a mature and confident young man. There was no doubt in his mind about Conner being more than able to take care of Raya. He had more than proven his ability to do that when he had put himself between her and that assassins bullet a few days ago. His willingness to trade his life for hers had been enough to prove his intentions were good and honorable. However, he couldn't help but question if Conner Kent was the man he wanted for Raya. Was he ready to call the young hero _son_? Well, he chose not to consider the answer to that question. It tread waters he was no good at and made him consider things he was uncomfortable considering.

He could admit, albeit only to himself, that there was a part of him, a deep and dark part, that absolutely hated how Conner was the man now protecting Raya. He knew it was irrational, illogical, that his feelings were ridiculous even. Yet, he couldn't help but feel just a bit resentful. Conner was Raya's protector now. _He is the one who comforted her after Jason's verbal assault upon her_, he thought, his fists bunching at his sides. _He is the one she turned too_. _Not me_.

It had been the first time she hadn't turned to him first.

Bruce was wise enough to know his twinges of bitterness and hurt was how many fathers felt towards their men their daughters dated. _Jim reacted the same way to every boy that Barbara was serious enough to bring home_, he mused as he reached up to turn the hands of the clock to 10:47 P.M. _I wonder how he managed not to lock any of them up in Blackgate_. He made a note to ask the veteran detective as he slowly began descending the staircase that appeared when the secret door opened.

...

Tim, wearing the climbing harness and belt that Bruce insisted he always don whenever he climbed up this high, hung twenty-five feet above the cave floor, securing an anchor into a stone fixture. Conner floated nearby, a line of heavy gauge nylon webbing held between his hands.

"Are you sure about this, Tim?" He let the question hang as he watched Tim secure the anchor. Around them, the caves innumerous batupants twittered and fluttered their wings at being so rudely awoken from their slumber. "I mean you could just use the training rooms we have back at the Tower. There's really no need to rig up something here in the Batcave."

Tim finished securing the anchor and signaled for Conner to hand him one end of the rope. "I'm not going to be returning to either the Titans or Titan Towers for a while, Kon."

"Not returning to the Titans?" Both of Conner's eyebrows shot up at that. "Why won't you be returning?"

"Until this business with Berkeley and the assassins has been dealt with I will be staying here in Gotham."

"Hey, now, Ti-"

"I won't leave until I know that you, Barbara and Raya are no longer Berkeley's prime targets."

Conner just flashed his best friend a lopsided grin. "What?" He teased his best friend. "Don't you trust that Batman and I can keep Batgirl and Fenix out of trouble?"

"Sure, I trust that you and Batman can keep them out of danger, Kon," Tim replied in a quietly subdued voice. "But who is going to protect _you_? Or Batman for that matter?" A dark shadow passed over Tim's face, alarming Conner. "It's my job as Robin to make sure that Batman comes home safe every night. I can't do that if I'm away on a mission with the Titans."

Conner set a gentle hand upon his friend's shoulder. "I'm here," he reminded him. "And-"

"... Berkeley is targeting _you_ just as much as he's targeting _Raya_, Kon," Tim growled as he jerked away. "That assassin, whoever they are? They could have just as easily have shot _you_ as they could have Barb or Raya."

"Yanno, you and Raya both keep forgetting that I'm half-Kryptonian," Conner drawled lazily. "That half doesn't come and go whenever it wants. It's not a light switch that I can flip on or off. Pretty much there all the time."

"I know that," Tim huffed. "But an-"

"...ordinary bullet causes me about the same amount of pain as a bee sting does you."

Tim turned away, but not before Conner saw the brief flash of fear that flickered across his friend's face. His brow creased as he tried to puzzle out just what had his best bud so on edge. _What is it, Timbo_? he silently asked the agitated hero. _What's buggin' ya_?

"Tim?" He kept his voice soft so as to not agitate the younger man any more than he already was. "What is it, man? What's buggin' ya?"

Tim did not immediately answer. That, itself, didn't overly surprise Conner. Tim had gotten a lot more closed-mouthed in the last year or so. Conner figured it was a combination of his responsibilities as Robin, his obligations to the Titans and his family, and a good dose of male hormones all at work. When he just focused upon attaching the wire to the anchor he had installed and remained silent, though? Then he knew something was definitely up. Conner floated closer to him, trying to get his bud to look at him, but Tim stubbornly refused to so much as even flick his eyes in his direction.

"What's bothering you, Tim?" Conner asked finally. "Please, tell me."

"Nothing's bothering me," Tim mumbled. " So just drop it. 'Kay?"

"Bullshit," he replied without heat. "I can see something is buggin' ya. So tell me what it is. Please?"

Tim scowled. "What makes you think something is up?"

"Well," he joked while rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, "you've been about as moody as Bruce as of late is one reason."

Tim merely responded with a soft snort. That he didn't immediately reply to that little jab with a heated denial was all Conner needed to hear in order to know that whatever was on Tim's mind was serious. He was about to demand what it was when Tim spoke.

"He knows that by hurting you, or me, or any member of this family that it is going to push Raya into confronting him. We are her strength..." a short pause was punctuated by a long sigh, "as well as her greatest weakness." He glanced at him from over a shoulder and Conner saw his eyes were dark with bitterness. "Berkeley is using us to get at her. Same as the Joker uses us to get at Batman." His shoulders dropped before he added, "And at Raya, since she's as compulsive about the Joker as she is about her father."

Conner reached out to lay a comforting hand upon his shoulder. "She's at her strongest when she's fighting for her family," he reminded him. "You know that."

"I know she is." He nodded once, jerkily. "I do know she is at her strongest when she's fighting for _us_. But that's the problem. She's fighting for _us. _She's not fighting for _herself_."

"Well…" Conner began, but Tim cut him off.

"She's being hammered at on three sides here, Kon." At his sides, his hands balled into fists. "She's got her father, the Joker and now Jason attacking her. And out of those three? It's Jason who has and can hurt her the worst."

Anybody who doubted that Tim and Raya were siblings only had to see the real worry and fear stamped upon his face to know the truth. They were brother and sister. _And little brother is scared something is gonna happen to his big sis._

"I won't let any of them get near her, Tim," he told him in a voice that was like tempered steel. "I will not let anybody hurt her. I promise you that."

"You do know that the woman you two yo-yos are up there discussing is about as stubborn as Bruce and just as incapable as him of seeing when she's in trouble up to her pretty little eyeballs, right?"

Both men glanced down at the sound of that familiar voice. The smiling face staring up at them brought comfort and much-needed support. Conner couldn't help but breathe a bit easier at seeing Dick Grayson. If there was anybody who would be able to help him with keeping the female members of this family safe, it was Dick. Still, he couldn't resist teasing the man. At least a little.

"So, you're who she was on the phone with the other night." Conner shot him a playful grin. "Was wondering how long it'd take before the Fenix would call Nightwing home to Gotham."

Tim snorted a laugh. "Ya shoulda known it was him when she started addressing him as 'bird boy' and 'buzzard beak'."

"Actually, she was calling him 'feather brains' and 'winged blunder.'"

Dick tossed his duffel bag into the locker room. "Her pet names for me are absolutely adorable," he remarked dryly.

"Least you aren't called _meathead_," Conner replied as he floated down in front of him. "Or when she's extremely irritated, the ever adorable, Superass."

Dick sent him a slow, easy smile. "Well, if you wouldn't act like one she wouldn't call you one."

"I'm not the one she frequently calls _Wingdiot_ when she gets really annoyed at him."

"Speaking of..." Dick glanced around the cave. "Where is the little she-devil?"

Tim rappelled down to the ground, unhooked his rope, moved over to where he'd set a water bottle on a work bench, and picked it up before saying, "She's riding desk tonight down at the GCPD."

That had Dick's eyebrows feathering up. "Bruce _actually_ allowed her to go to work tonight?" At Tim's nod, he added, "And that was without having the entire Justice League escort her?"

"What do you mean that he _allowed_?" Conner smirked and folded his arms across his chest. "I recall there being a heated argument between them that was followed by an insanely pissy silence before a sullen compromise was finally reached."

"Oh?" Amusement speckled Dick's voice. "And what was the compromise that they managed to reach?"

"That she was to have Krypto accompany her to the GCPD," Dick heard that familiar voice rasp from behind him. "And that she is to check in with Gordon and I every thirty minutes or else I would go to the GCPD to retrieve her."

Dick slowly turned to look at the older man. The atmosphere in the cave shifted as soon as their eyes met. Conner imagined that this was what it would feel like if a tornado ever met a volcano. The relationship between Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson had become bent at that moment when Bruce decided to fire Dick as Robin. Lost and bitterly confused, Dick had wandered for a time, searching for who he was in a world where he was no longer the Boy Wonder but wasn't really sure about who Dick Grayson was, either. Even now, and especially after everything that had happened in the last few years, the relationship between father and son remained strained.

"You obviously don't know Raya quite as well as I know her," Dick said quietly. "If you did then you'd know that she can merely have Barb ghost her cell phone number as her office number and flit off to wherever she wants to go."

"That's why I asked Catwoman to keep an eye on her."

The end of Dick's lips twitched and humor sparkled in the depths of his eyes. "Oh, now that has to be driving Raya nuts."

"As long as it keeps her safe?" Bruce said before turning to head into the changing area. "I don't care how nuts it drives her."

...

It was just after eleven and the evening crowd in Matthew Berkeley's club was just starting to get a bit noisy. Berkeley sat listening to their drunken laughter and occasional shouts, intermixed with the feeble attempt of the live band he'd hired to entertain them, from the sanctity of his private office. Sitting behind his black walnut desk, he was leaning back in his overstuffed leather chair and studying the bespectacled man seated across from him, limpid eyes shining with good humor and something Berkeley passed off as not worth his consideration.

"Exactly what is it that you want here, Crane?"

"Why, I want you to call off your dogs, of course."

Berkeley took a puff of his cigar, considering the infamous doctor's request for a few moments. "And if I refuse?"

A pleasant smile curved those thin lips.

"Then I will be forced to use-" A pause was punctuated by a slippery laugh. "_Drastic_ measures in order to ensure you do not succeed at killing your lovely daughter."

Berkeley merely smiled as he puffed on his cigar. Silence, as he so knew, was an effective tool. He'd intimidated a great many people simply by remaining silent. Against this man, however, the technique was absolutely useless. You simply could not out psych a psychologist like Crane. That didn't mean that he couldn't remind the doctor about who was in charge here.

"Let me remind you about how our relationship works, Doctor. I obtain your shipments for you..."

"I am paying you for those shipments," Crane interjected. "A rather hefty fee as I recall."

"Money isn't what I desire for my service, Doctor."

Crane sat forward. A moment before, he'd seemed almost _affable_. Now, he did not. "I am well aware of what it is you want, Mr. Berkeley," he uttered in one low, moist hiss. "But you should realize that without your daughter that I will never have access to the form-"

"I am no longer interested in obtaining either my father's notes or in mass producing his behavioral modifying agent, _Inceptive_."

Crane straightened in his chair. Something dark and dangerous flickered in his eyes, upon that long and thin face, but it was gone before Berkeley could determine just what it was he'd seen.

"We had a deal, Mr. Berkeley."

"And I am now renegotiating the terms of that deal, Doctor. I want Raya out of my hair once and for all. And," he declared in a hard voice, "I aim to see that it happens sooner rather than later."

Anger suffused that florid face. "You can't do this! I won't stand for it! Do you hear me, Berkeley? I won't stand for this!"

"I can and I am doing that, Dr. Crane," he simpered. "And there's nothing that _you_ can do about it."

"Oh, but my good man," Crane replied in a slippery smooth voice. "I beg to disagree. There is something that I can do to stop you."

Berkeley's lips curled. "Oh? And what is it that you think you can do, Doctor?"

There was a glimmer of delight as well as a hint of that underlying aberration in those lucent eyes now. Despite himself, Berkeley felt a shiver of fear skate along his spine.

"Why, haven't you guessed?" He saw by the expression upon Berkeley's face that he had not. His smile stretched wide. "I can and _will_ bring against you the one man that you don't want to be brought against you."

"And just who is that, Doctor?"

Even as he asked he knew what the answer would be. There was only one person in all of Gotham that he had no desire to face off against. _And Crane knows that._

"Why, the Batman, of course."

Berkeley's jaw clenched. "You wouldn't dare sic the Dark Knight on me."

Crane giggled—a slippery, wet sound which sent shivers of fear dancing up and down his spine. "Oh, but wouldn't I?" he simpered. "To get my hands upon _Inceptive_ I would do anything. Even," he paused, smiled. "Work with the winged freak to stop you from killing your daughter."

Berkeley saw that he had no choice. Crane had him over a barrel. _And he knows it_, he thought, feeling anger surge. _He knows that he has me by the balls_. _I can't risk the Dark Knight coming in and tearing apart the empire that I have worked so carefully to build_. Well, he wouldn't have him for long. _And if the Doctor just happens to become a liability_? _Well, he can be eliminated just as easily as my daughter and her freak boyfriend_.

"Fine," he rasped. "I will call off my assassins."

Crane merely smiled and sat back in his seat. "I assumed you would. Now, about my shipments…"

* * *

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.


	15. Like is Like

Jason watched those jewel-toned eyes flicker for only the briefest of seconds with something other than that icy calm. The crack in her social mask was just enough that it allowed him a glimpse of the place where all of her fears, anger and hurt dwelled in wild abandon. The demons chasing this woman did so with the same feral glee that his demons did. It was, even more, proof about how there'd been someone out there who'd been through hell, and that like him, they'd somehow managed to survive.

_It's a kick in the balls to find out that one of the people I've spent all these months despising, is just as screwed up as I am_.

How Raya managed to keep her rage contained was beyond him. He, much like Bruce, exercised his demons by unleashing unholy warfare upon the scum of this city. _What does she do_? He found himself wondering. _How does she release the balls of hate simmering inside her? What does she do to still the anger always on a slow boil? When does she allow the tendrils of fear to uncoil? _They were questions he found himself wanting to ask her. Not at that moment, though, of course. He'd put her through the ringer once by being a complete asshole. Least he could do now was allow her to rebuild the walls before he blew them to kingdom come again.

Krypto responded to the shift in her mood by whining and nuzzling his head against her hand. That the wonder mutt took his role as protector serious was not lost upon Jason. However, the two were a closely bonded pair. If he hadn't known about Krypto being from Superman's home planet of Krypton, he'd just have assumed that the dog was just some mixed breed she'd raised from a puppy. Raya obliged Krypto by scratching behind his ear and murmuring something Jason couldn't hear, but which he knew the mutt heard without even trying. Then she looked at him, that social mask back in place and spoke, her tone a detached one he found more than a trifling annoying.

"Matthew Berkeley was released from custody because there was no evidence to support my claim that he was the one who murdered his wife."

"Bullshit. _You_ saw it. You were-" Jason gritted but Raya cut him off.

"Barely nine-years-old," she stated in a tone as cold as ice. "And considered an unreliable witness because of my age and the fact that I was severely traumatized by the events."

"You were covered in the proof of it."

If she was surprised that he knew that, it didn't show. In fact, nothing showed on her alabaster face save for a world-weariness he understood far too well.

"Even with a mountain of physical proof staring him in the face the DA refused to prosecute," she finally said. "Said he couldn't win and didn't want to waste taxpayer money."

"Gordon saw the abu-"

"No, Uncle Jim didn't." Her lips curved into a sad, bitter smile. "He suspected it, yes. But he never physically witnessed my father raise a hand against either my mother or myself."

"You had the power of Bruce Wayne behind you," he ground out. "That should have been enough to convince the DA to prosecute."

She gave him a look that told him eloquently how he knew that Gotham didn't operate within the same constructs of the law as the rest of the world.

"Even Bruce's name and influence couldn't shake the control my father had over the district attorney's office," she told him quietly. "He couldn't buy me a conviction, Jason. And I wouldn't want him too."

Jason scoffed. "What good is the old man's name and money if it can't ungrease a set of greased palms?"

Raya merely sniffed, once, before bestowing another of Bruce's black looks upon him. "Money," she sneered now, "does not solve everything."

"You're talking to a man who has never had more than ten cents to rub together here, Kit."

She gave him a look filled with such pity and disgust that it made his teeth gnash. Even Krypto glanced at him in disgust. And that, Jason discovered was even more powerful than having her look at him that way. He found himself squirming despite himself. Raya then took a step back, turned, and made to walk away. After one more cutting look, the mutt turned and trotted after her.

"Yanno, I never took the Fenix for a coward," he called after her in a lazily drawled taunt. Why he couldn't keep his big fat yap shut was beyond him. It was like something was compelling him to smart off, to piss her off, to force her into a confrontation.

"You call me a coward and yet it is you who has spent the last year running and hiding from his unresolved feelings of abandonment, anger, grief, and resentment."

She brushed him off like a mosquito. Like a gnat. Not with a slash of temper but with sympathy laced with that glacier calm. Anger snapped and snarled at him. Her pity was the last goddamn thing he wanted. Just what he did want from her, he couldn't honestly say. He hissed out a breath that just sizzled with his impatience and frustration.

"I've neither been _running_," he snarled finally. "Nor have I been _hiding_ from anything."

"The only time you aren't running is when you are laying siege to a member of this family," she growled right back at him.

"I'm not running from anything!"

She cut him a look over her shoulder. "You've been running ever since you had your twisted little brain unscrambled by your bath with Ra's!"

He told himself he wasn't surprised she knew about his dip in the Lazarus Pit. The old man likely had told her about it. Yet there was a niggling doubt poking away at him that said Bruce wasn't the one who'd told her. _So who did_? he found himself wondering.

"How do you know about my swim with Ra's?"

Something burned in the depths of those eyes that had a corresponding fire igniting in his heart.

"I was told about your little swim by the same person who told you that your death was never avenged, that you'd been replaced by Tim, and that you'd been somehow _forgotten_."

"Talia," he grated out on a sigh. "Shoulda known she'd be the one ta tell ya."

Her lips curled into a wordless snarl. "Oh, yes," she hissed. "_Talia_. An absolute paragon of virtue and truth."

"Considering I was replaced-"

"Bullshit."

"...and I was forgotten," he gritted.

She scoffed. "So forgotten that Bruce refuses to take down your pictures, clean out your bedroom, or remove your old Robin suit from its display case."

"That-" he began but she instantly cut him off.

"You're so forgotten that he has Alfred set a plate for you at every dinner and family function."

"How about my death," he snarled. "What's your big answer for why it was never aven-"

"So what if your death wasn't avenged?" she snapped impatiently. "Is killing the Joker the only goddamn thing that matters to you? Or doesn't the fact that this entire family was torn apart by losing you count for nothing here?"

"He doesn't even feel remorse about not avenging my death!"

"That's because he's spent every waking moment grieving for you!" She crossed to him in four angry strides, her eyes blazing with fire and something Jason identified as guilt. _About what, though_? That was the question lurking at the back of his mind.

"He didn't grieve for me-"

"Bruce was like a zombie after your death," she cut in. "He pushed himself harder, took greater chances and even more risks than Dick had ever seen him take. He barely slept, he hardly ate and he shoved everyone, even _Alfred_ away from him." She jabbed him in the chest with the tip of one perfectly manicured fingernail. "So don't you dare tell me he didn't feel remorse over your death. He did. And he contemplated killing that goddamn clown more times than I can count."

He took a menacing step forward before demanding, "Then why, for the love of God, is that clown still alive? Huh? Tell me that."

"The Joker lives because it is not our way to kill. As a Robin..."

He barked a laugh. "C'mon, we both know that I was never really Robin."

"Jason-"

"Admit it, I'm the old man's greatest failure," he said it with a smirk, but the effort cost him. Dearly. "Just like he said I was. Course, I'm not his only one. Nor am I," he continued spitefully, "gonna be the last."

"Again, Jason… you have _heard_ what it was that Bruce had to say to you." A pause was punctuated by one long sigh that left her breath steaming in the cold air. "But you didn't bother to _listen_ to what his actual words were."

"And I still don't need you lecturing me about the differences between _hearing_ and _listening_."

"Well, you're gonna listen to me whether you like hearing what I have to say or not."

She tossed her head, sending those dark curls flying before giving him a look that just dared him to argue with her. He gave in as graciously as he could.

"Say what ya wanna say and be done with it then."

"Yes, he _told_ you he considered you a failure. Bruce says a lot of things in the heat of the moment. Yes, he may even have regretted handing the mantle of Robin to you. He fired Dick more times than I can count because of how paranoid he got over him being injured."

Triumph flashed through him. "He still regrets-"

"What he regretted," she continued right over him, "was that he wasn't the _parent_ you needed. He didn't see until it was too late that you needed what I needed: a father more than a mentor. He thought by handing you the mantle of Robin, by channeling the rage and grief inside you into physical skills you could use for good that it'd help you heal from all the crap your parents did to you. He sees himself as having failed you because he wasn't there; he wasn't what you needed. He didn't realize until it was too late that you needed _him_... not _Batman_."

Jason felt his world spinning out of control. Every word was a carefully aimed arrow that hit him where he hurt the most. He wanted to take the words and hurl them back at her, call them all lies and say it wasn't true. But he knew better. He knew this woman didn't speak unless she knew her words to be fact. _And that_? he thought as he took another step toward her, _is what makes her such a dangerous adversary_. Batman and Nightwing were gifted with the necessary set of physical skills, as well as a cave full of toys, needed to disarm and bring Gotham's vermin to justice. Both men possessed above average intelligence. Yet neither man wielded cold, irrefutable logic with the same prowess that this woman did.

"I'm not gonna stand here while ya analyze my relationship with Bruce. Ya can-"

"What?" she ground out between clenched teeth. "Piss off? No."

"Woman, I'm warning you… back off. _Now_."

"Or you'll do what, Jason?"

It was a bold taunt.

"You don't wanna know what'll happen if'n ya don't back off."

He took another step toward her, forcing her to angle her head back in order to look at him and lifted a hand towards her face. A warning snarl from the dog at her side made him pause in mid-reach. Did _Krypto_ think he was so far gone that he'd actually _strike_ Raya? He cast a look at the mutt, saw the threat in those barred teeth that he did. _I've never struck a woman in my whole life,_ he told the dog silently. _And I ain't gonna start now._

It wasn't like Krypto had to worry, though. Raya had taken all the intimidation and bullshit she was gonna take off of him that she was gonna take.

"Do something then," she snapped as she slapped her palms against his chest. "But you'll know and I'll know that all you're doing is evading the truth."

"Kit…" he said the nickname he'd graced her with slowly, making it sound like the warning it was, but she pressed on without a care.

"You don't want me to analyze your relationship with Bruce because it's so much easier to _blame_ him for every little problem, mistake, and wrong. You want to act like everything that has ever happened in your life is his fault." She shoved him again. "It's not his fault that your life got so screwed up!"

"It's his fault the Joker is still alive!"

"No, it's not!" she shouted at him. "It's not his fault! It's _mine_! You hear me? It's _my_ fault that goddamn clown is still alive!" She shoved him again. "I stopped Batman from breaking the golden rule!" Tears pooled in her eyes and rained down her cheeks. "So if you want to blame someone for that goddamn clown still breathing? You blame _me_." She smacked her hands against his chest once more. "You hear me? You blame me!"

Jason could do nothing but stare at her in stupefied silence. _Did she stop Bruce from killing the Joker_? _But... why?_ He didn't know he'd spoken his musings aloud until he heard her say in a voice thick with the emotions crashing over them both, "Because I'd already let the Joker win once." Her fingers curled into the buttery folds of his leather jacket. "I let him win when I wasn't there to stop him from killing you." Her head tipped forward then, her forehead resting against his chest. "And dammit, I wasn't going to let him have Bruce, too."

Jason felt the fight go out of him. All this time he'd blamed Bruce for not ending the clown and the truth was that someone had yanked him back before he could take that final plunge. For several moments he could do nothing but stand there and listen as she cried. Finally, he reached up and ran a not quite steady hand over those springy curls.

"What the hell are ya wantin' outta me here, woman?"

She was quiet for a number of moments. Then he heard her whisper, "I just want you to finally look at the contents of the jar that _you've_ been dumping on us for the last year. I want you to see those contents for what they really are and not what your Pit-warped mind and the manipulation of Talia al Ghul have twisted them into being. And I just want you to understand finally how much losing you changed this family."

"And what makes ya such a goddamn expert on me, or any part of my life? Huh?" Desperate to regain some sort of control, he grabbed her arms, and shook her, hard. Krypto muscled his way between them and shoved him back with a warning growl. He cut the superdog a scathing look before turning blazing eyes back upon the woman starting at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Ya don't know shit about my life! Ya don't know shit about me or my relationship with Bruce! So do us both a favor here and shut the fuck up!"

"I know more about you than you think I do, Jason."

"Right," he scoffed. "Ya don't know dick about me, Kit."

"Oh, I don't?" Her look was all feminine smugness now. "Want me to prove you wrong?" She paused, cocked her head to the side and then sent him a lazy smirk. "_Again_?"

"Go ahead and try," he sneered. He heard his younger self whispering about how this was not a road he really wanted to travel with her but he ignored the warning. "I guarantee =you'll lose."

She merely shrugged before saying, "I know you came from a household that was ruled by drug addiction and domestic violence. Father was a two-bit con who liked to smack his son and wife around. Got killed in prison..." a pause. Then she said in a tone that was alive with every emotion not in residence upon her flawless face. "I hope it was a violent death for the record. It's what the prick deserves."

His lips twisted into a smirk. "You and I both hope that. But do go on," he commanded in a bored voice. "I'm finding this little... _dissection_ of yours to be quite entertaining."

He saw her bristle but did as he commanded. "I know you were left to become the man of the house, taking care of your mom and yourself by the time you were eight? That you had a few run-ins with the law, mostly for stealing from a local grocer who always took pity and dropped the charges? I know you got in a bunch of fights with some older boys who lived in your building and that it was Leslie Thompkins who always patched you up." She fixed him with a baleful look when he merely snorted a laugh. "And how about I know that because of what you endured that you have deep-seeded trust and abandonment issues, an extreme inferiority complex as well as moments of role confusion and a problem with intimacy." She folded her arms across her chest then and smirked. "Want me to go on? Or have I given you enough to stew over?"

He pointed a finger at her, snarled, "You're wrong."

"And you're running again, Jason."

He growled a low warning, much like a cornered dog before saying, "Watch it, Kit."

"Or you'll do what?" she taunted in a sing-song voice that bounced along nerves already scrapped raw. "Hit me?" Her lips curled now with cold amusement. "We both know you won't do that."

"And lemme guess," he hissed nastily. "You have a spectacular reason for why you know I won't hit ya."

"Yes." She nodded. "Yes, I do."

"Well, gee, don't keep me in suspense here," he muttered sarcastically.

"Jason, there's no way you'll ever allow yourself to become the abusive bastard Willis Todd was."

* * *

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, fav/follow.


	16. The Knight

On a rooftop across from the steel-and-glass high-rise, a phone vibrated, alerting the man who'd been lurking up there while waiting for Agent Kean to make an appearance. Deadshot picked the phone up in one hand and slid his thumb across the screen in one smooth, effortless motion in order to read the message he'd been sent.

[_Shoot my daughter, kill the boy_], the message read.

Short, simple and straight to the point.

How Berkeley knew his daughter was standing on the roof of the GCPD with the Red Hood at that very moment, he didn't know.

Not that it mattered all that much in the larger scheme of things.

He had been given the green-light to shoot one, and kill the other. If it was strange that Berkeley was suddenly opting to spare the life of his daughter, he let it slide. He had learned long ago that the high and mighty set tended to be a capricious lot. Much like the wind, they could change their minds without a moments notice. First things first, though. There was the little matter of some business that needed to be gotten out of the way before he would chamber another round into his rifle and take out the Red Hood.

[_It will cost you triple what you are paying me for the girl_]

The response came less than twelve seconds later: [_Just see that it is done_]

A smirk twisted one corner of his mouth. He still found shooting the woman to be distasteful, but he had to admit that this gig was proving to be his most profitable yet. The kinda money Berkeley was paying him put him in league with the crème de crème of the assassin world. These kinda pay days were normally reserved for someone like... Slade Wilson. His lips curled at just the mere thought of the temperamental merc. Only the mysterious assassin could command the fee that he was now demanding. His lips curved into a humorless smile. He finally was on par with that one-eyed bastard.

It was about time.

He placed his phone back on the ground and reached for the rifle he'd set against the wall. The Mauser 7.62 mm SP 66 sniper rifle was the perfect weapon for this objective. Some would complain that the three-round magazine of the bolt-action rifle made it extremely inefficient. Considering how he only needed two bullets in order to achieve his agenda? Three was more than enough.

The way he saw it, all he needed to do was prioritize his targets, count upon them to react in the manner he thought they would and take them out in subsequent order. If he shot Kean first, the man in the red half-mask would immediately turn his attention to protecting her and thus open himself up for his second shot. Satisfied with his plan, and knowing it would meet with success, Deadshot drew a breath and let it out. Adrenaline sang in his veins as he dropped the first round into the chamber. Then he settled in to wait for when his targets would present him with the opportunity for the perfect shot.

After all, he only needed to kill _one_.

...

"Raya..."

Jason's next words died when he spied a small red dot creep across her temple, slide down her cheek before swinging over to settle upon a point between her throat and shoulder. It felt like time came to a screeching halt around him. Jason could hear his heart pounding, every beat like the tick of a bomb counting down to zero. His blood burned under his skin and his breath became icy sludge that rattled in his chest. Only now did he recognize why the Fenix had been grounded from going on patrols. Only now did he understand why Superboy had ordered the superdog to remain at Raya's side. He'd heard the rumors about there being assassins in Gotham. He'd heard about what had happened at Gotham University a few days before. He'd merely assumed it was all about Batman.

Just like it always was.

He'd been wrong, though. Horribly wrong. Not that that was all that much of a shock, really. Being wrong, though, didn't help the situation he now found himself. On the roof of a nearby building was one of those assassins he'd thought to be after Batman. An assassin he knew now was after _this_ woman. _He'd _been the one to put her in harm's way when he called her out onto the roof. That left it up to him to make sure that the assassin's bullet didn't obtain the home it craved.

Even as Krypto barked a warning, he hooked an arm around Raya's waist and twisted, putting himself between her and the assassin's shot. Seconds later a slug slammed into his shoulder, exiting just above his collarbone. The fiery rip of it had him biting out a string of curses, but he ignored the pain and yanked Raya down behind that Klieg spotlight. Then Jason did the one thing, the _only_ thing, he could think to do at that moment.

He slapped the button and turned that spotlight on.

...

Deadshot saw through the scope of his rifle how the round he'd discharged had found purchase in the shoulder of the Red Hood rather than in that of Raya Kean. He released a stream of violent curses at having his perfect shot miss his intended target. He _never _missed! _Never_! That bullet would have pierced her flesh had that bastard not grabbed her and spun her out of harm's way.

No matter.

He still had two bullets left in the chamber.

He took aim again but found he couldn't get a clear shot thanks to the Hood pulling the pretty little agent down behind the concrete slab that that infamous klieg spotlight sat upon. A second later that light came on, shining that damned Bat-shaped symbol onto the night sky. It was a direct call to the very last person he wanted showing up to ruin his plans. Well, he amended with another stream curses, ruin them any more than they'd already been ruined.

Seeing how his window of opportunity starting to fall shut on him what with Batman signaled, Deadshot steadied himself in the vee formed between two air vents, the sniper rifle balanced perfectly atop the steel ducts. He drew in a breath and released it slowly as he watched for one or the other of the Bat-brats to poke their little heads up high enough for him to take his shot. He contented himself with the knowledge that he could salvage this night still by eliminating one of his targets. All he needed was just _one_.

It wasn't like Berkeley would be all that pissed off if he killed his daughter instead of the Red Hood.

His teeth flashed white in the darkness as he settled in to wait.

_..._

_"__You must become the night_ _if you wish to stop those who dwell in it_."

Master Wen's words flickered into Batman's mind as he barreled across one end of Gotham to another. He was en route to the compound known as the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane in order to check on the very man he and Jim Gordon believed responsible for the murder of a man left outside Gotham General earlier that evening: Jonathan Crane. Arkham was only reachable by a long stretch of road that resembled a barren wasteland. Both sides of the fractured road were lined with leafless trees that looked like grotesque snowmen in the pale moonlight. The fields on either side were devoid of any life or vegetation. It was as if the very Earth itself feared to allow anything to live or grow here.

An eerie mist slithered its way across the pavement, sinewy fingers stretching out towards the sleek black automobile in icy supplication as it screamed past. He hated whenever he was required to make this drive out to the asylum. He imagined the highway to hell was a much more vibrant and active road than this one was. There it was at least likely he'd meet the souls of those he'd been unable to save, unable to protect. There it was at least possible that he'd confront those monsters he'd brought to justice in life. Then he'd have something other than the ever growing pool of memories waiting at the forefront of his mind to keep him occupied as he drove this stretch of road. In order to distract himself, Batman considered the ever growing distrust forming between him and many of Gotham's citizens and the asylum and its staff.

There were many of the city's politicians and humanitarians who were becoming aware of the corruption, the lack of quality care, the unaccountable deaths and physical degradation that had been going on inside the cavernous walls of the asylum for the last several years. Changes had been ordered, an overhaul of the procedures and operations requested, the standard of care raised to an appropriate level. Batman, however, knew overhauling the staff, the procedures and the grounds were only putting a Band-Aid on the wound.

Those were not the only changes that needed to be made in order to correct the problems the mental hospital had going on behind those huge iron gates. Arkham was a psychologically demanding environment that took a toll upon all those trying to help the mentally deranged housed in the various facilities. Many found themselves having to seek treatment in order to cope with the stress and emotional price attached to their help. It wasn't just the super villains like Waylon Jones, Edward Nigma or Jonathan Crane who demanded everything from those in charge of their care.

It was also those who lives had been changed by those men that the staff had to contend with, as well.

The inmates of Arkham all required constant vigilance and round-the-clock care. The asylum's guards, doctors, and various other staff all did their best to keep as close an eye upon their colony as they could, but it was still a task made difficult considering the quality of attention that was needed by some of the more deranged patients housed in the bowels of the Intensive Treatment building.

The closed-circuit cameras posted throughout the compound had been supplied by the Wayne Foundation. The security system that had been installed a few months ago had been manufactured by WayneTech. The telecommunication lines were the most recent technology available. Even the modifications made to the grounds and buildings had been done by some of the finest architects that money could employ.

Yet even with all the technological and architectural modifications that had been made, there still remained a large number of the population who required even more strict measures in order to keep them from escaping. _And then there are some_, he thought, his lips peeling back in a wordless snarl, that the darkest pit in the asylum can contain. No matter what provisions were instituted, no matter what precautions were taken, the Joker was always going to manage to find a way in which to escape his cell and unleash hell upon the city. Many, himself included, had demanded there be criminal charges brought against those suspected of physically assaulting the inmates. Over half a dozen staff, guards, and doctors had been arrested on charges of assault and battery, sodomy, rape, and murder alone.

_Murder_.

Murder and mayhem.

The Joker.

_Jason_.

Joker had murdered a sixteen-year-old boy for the simple pleasure it had given him. Everything the clown did was because of the satisfaction it brought him. Batman's fingers clenched the steering wheel tight enough that he heard his own bones cracking with the pressure. Yet, the pain kept the memories beginning to slip the chains he'd bound them in from getting free.

"You must become the night," Wen had told him in that moon-dappled dojo high up in the mountains. Well, he'd done that. He'd become the thing lurking around every corner. He was what the bad guys had nightmares about. He was the deliverer of justice, the guardian of truth, the defender of the innocent. Until that ill-fated night in Africa, he'd had no regrets about dedicating his service to the greater good. He'd done his duty and done it proudly. Until the night he'd so faithfully served for over a decade had so cruelly betrayed him.

The night willfully neglected to tell him about what was going to happen when Jason reached Ethiopia. The night did not whisper to him about the Joker also being in Africa. It did not tell him that the Joker would lead Jason to him by supplying the boy with the whereabouts of his mother. The night kept to itself what it was that the Joker was planning to do in order to push him into breaking his one and only rule. The night made him as blind as his namesake. It was the night who failed to reveal to him about what was to happen to his Robin- his soldier, his protégé, his _son_ in that damned warehouse.

Jason Todd.

The boy he failed.

His second son.

_Alive_.

Whatever Superboy Prime had done when he altered reality had somehow brought Jason back to life. What arose from the ground, though, was not the same being he'd placed into it. Jason came back angrier, darker, and more violent than he'd been as Robin. His hatred for the family who'd grieved for his loss had ripped jagged holes in all of them. Systematically, he'd gone after those he'd felt either had failed him or somehow replaced him in their hearts and lives. After Jason's attack on Tim a few months ago, he'd made the decision to finally place Jason in the care of the asylum doctors in order to get the young man the mental help he'd neglected to get him prior to his death.

_His death_.

A warehouse blew apart by a bomb.

Jason's lifeless body amidst the broken beams and rubble.

The Joker.

He let out a soft curse as he struggled with containing the flood of sensory images trying to burst free.

_Become the night_?

He _was_ the night, he thought bitterly. And his son hated him for it. _No_, he couldn't keep thinking about his problems with his son. Fixing their broken relationship was not something he'd be able to do in one night anyway. Besides, there were more pressing matters for him to focus upon. He needed to find a way to stop Crane before he could obtain the formula that the doctor craved with every fiber of his skeletal being. Ah, but it was difficult for him to focus upon Crane when Jason had gone after Raya. Just why Jason had gone after her, he did not know. And Raya outright refused to speak about what happened that night on her apartment balcony, protecting the boy despite the fact that he'd hurt her.

_Why, Jason? _he silently asked. _Of any of us that you could have gone after, that you could have attacked, why her?_

Arkham Asylum loomed larger than life in front of him, interrupting his dark thoughts and returning them to the matter at hand. In the two days since he'd last checked on the doctor, Crane had either managed to escape the asylum or gotten a correspondence out to his partner that detailed who the next set of victims needed to be. The question on Batman's mind right now was: _how_?

The wheels of the Batmobile spewed gravel as he raced through those massive iron gates and headed towards the main entrance. He parked the Batmobile by a row of personal vehicles and was about to step from the car when a flash caught the corner of his eye. He glanced in the rear view mirror and scowled.

Why would Jim have ordered the Batsignal turned on?

It made no sense. He knew Gordon had still been overseeing the crime scene at the hospital less than twenty-five minutes ago. What could have happened in that time he'd have chosen to turn on that spotlight rather than phone him on the private line they normally would use for short calls to the other? He needed to find out. He tapped a button on the steering wheel and placed a call to the veteran detective.

"Gordon," he heard the man say.

"I just arrived at Arkham." His tone was curt. "Is there any reason for why you put up the Batsignal?"

There was a burst of static and he could hear Gordon barking out orders. Then he said, "I didn't give leave for the Batsignal to be turned on."

"Somebody has turned the spotlight on. If it was not you, then who was it?"

"The only one at the GCPD with the authority to use that light, besides Bullock, is..."

"Raya."

There was a two-second pause and then he heard Gordon grit, "I will meet you there in ten minutes."

By Batman's count, it would take him _six_.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello m'lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

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	17. This is Clark Kent

Dressed in a red and blue bodysuit made from the polymers of the baby blanket he'd been swaddled in before being sent from Krypton, and with his cape flowing behind him, Superman launched himself up into the night air. Right fist extended, he soared into the sky, blasted to the heart of the city, circled around Wayne Towers, and then shot off towards an island on the outskirts of Gotham. Alfred Pennyworth, the faithful _butler _of the Dark Knight and his family had informed him that he'd be able to locate the man he'd come here specifically to see out at Arkham Asylum.

Normally, he would take the time to enjoy not only the freedom of not having to hide his secret identity but the euphoria of flying. Tonight, however, his enjoyment was moderately dampened by the fact that a shipment of kryptonite had been stolen from a lab in Metropolis and delivered into the hands of someone here in Gotham. Whose hands? He didn't have a clue. Not that there weren't plenty of suspects to pick from. _This is Gotham, after all_. Considering how his _nephew_ had relocated to Gotham under the _pretense_ of attending Gotham University, a fact he knew now to be complete baloney, it was an issue causing him quite a bit of alarm. _I have a feeling that this missing kryptonite shipment has something to do with the assassins that Bruce tells me are after Conner and Raya_.

Bruce had handled what went down at Gotham University a lot better than he had thought he would. Not that Clark could blame him for being upset at what nearly happened. It always seemed like there was a clown, an assassin, or some other bad guy trying to kill or hurt one of their friends or family. Clark knew Bruce had gone into an overprotective mode not because it was the clown, psychopathic doctor or some other meta-human who had singled out Conner and Raya for their attack. He'd gone into overprotective mode because it was Raya's biological father who had put the hit out on the couple. And he had moved them both into Wayne Manor, despite his misgivings over their relationship, in order to keep an eye on them.

Thinking about how Bruce was handling Raya and Conner dating had him contemplating his own feelings about the young couple's relationship. He couldn't deny how he didn't have… _concerns_. He figured his misgivings were normal and perfectly akin to those any family member would have when seeing two people he cared about getting involved romantically. However, Clark was also concerned about their compatibility as a whole. He had seen how close the two were during the incident at Cadmus. He knew they had started dating not long after what had happened in the laboratory. He knew Conner had really moved to Gotham in order to be with Raya. He knew they had started living together about four months ago. He knew it was logical to assume they were sleeping together.

_And sleeping together_, he thought as he twisted around a circling news helicopter, _is__ how babies end up happening_.

He could picture Bruce's reaction to becoming a grandfather at forty-two. He almost wanted it to happen just so he could see the venerable _Batman_ having to deal with things like diaper duty, midnight feedings and colic. His good humor fled a second later when he detected a sound - _gunfire? - _shattering the relative quiet that he'd been enjoying. A frown puckered his brow as he zeroed in on the location the sound had originated from. With his sharp vision and supersonic hearing, he could pick up the tiniest of detail and use it to pinpoint _who_, _what_ and _where_. He only needed one or the other here to tell him from where that gun had been fired. Then it was a matter of finding out _who _had fired it and stopping them before they either got another shot off or managed to get away. A spotlight came on from the roof of the GCPD building, shining a familiar bat-shaped symbol against the velvet curtain above him.

Someone was in serious trouble and calling out to their infamous hero for help.

Well, he wasn't Batman, but he'd certainly offer them, aide. Martha and Jonathan Kent had raised their adopted son to be more than just some passing observer, after all. They'd taught him that only the lowest person would stand by while evil harmed the innocent. When he saw someone in trouble, he did something to help them out. Plus, it was likely that the one requesting the Dark Knight's help was Raya.

With that thought in mind, Superman swooped in the direction of the building from where that spotlight was shining, keeping his senses attuned for another shot fired from that rifle.

...

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," Raya stuttered once they were safely down behind the concrete wall, "you've been shot." She instantly went to examine the wound, but Jason nudged her hands away. "Let me see how bad it is," she begged him softly.

"It's just a flesh wound," Jason spoke the lie without so much as even batting an eye.

"Men," she huffed. "I swear that if _one_ of you, just _one _of you! would _ever_ let Alfred and I tend to your injuries without any of this macho bull-"

"Ya ain't gettin' rid of me, Kit." He managed to work up a cocky smirk. At her wordless snarl, he grimaced and amended his statement a tad. "All right, ya ain't gettin' rid of me _that _easily. So quit your bitchin'."

She blinked at him, her eyes a whirlpool of thoughts and emotions in the shadows. Then she scowled at him. Jason found himself thinking of Bruce again when he saw that black look upon her face. Only, on Batman, that expression managed to be fierce and intimidating. Many a man and woman had revealed their deepest, darkest secrets at the sight of that dark glare. On Raya, though, it just made her look like an annoyed fairy. He didn't even bother with acknowledging how much of a kick in the balls it was to find himself sitting there and wishing Batman would swoop in at that moment and rescue them both.

"If I wanted to be rid of you, Jason Todd," she muttered crossly. "I would simply have Conner toss your sorry ass to the other side of the planet." Then her hand swept over his cheek, just for an instant, belying the heat in those words. To Jason, her touch was like the flutter of gossamer wings just whispering across his flesh. It shot heat careening through his body to warm those areas inside him still frozen in slumber. "Let me see how bad it is, please?"

"Fine," he managed to say around the white hot agony licking a trail across his shoulder and collarbone. "Just try and keep your head down, will ya? One bullet a night is more than enough for even an asshole like me."

She snorted as she began to gently examine the wound. "They shot at _you, _Jas..."

"Prick's laser scope was fixed on _your _temple, Kit," he stated firmly, "not mine."

Jason could tell by the slight widening of her eyes that his news had managed to take her completely by surprise. That the daft woman hadn't bothered to consider how the immediate danger was to _her_ and not him vexed him. _Greatly_.

"Why do ya seem so shocked that somebody mighta been taking a shot at ya?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't surprise me," she refuted in a quiet voice. "I know about the threats that my father has been making against me. I know about the assassins he's hired. I just didn't think he'd actually go through with having me killed."

"Well," he growled. "Apparently, he is."

Krypto punctuated Jason's with a short bark. Raya cut him a look. "Don't need any commentary outta you."

Another bark was followed by a high yip. Raya just rolled her eyes.

"Et tu, Krypticus?"

"Ya know how ta speak mutt, Kit?" Jason drawled lazily.

He was rewarded with a growl from the superdog. Raya for her part merely sighed and gave him this look that said she found his jerkish statement to be completely unnecessary.

"I have been with Krypto long enough that I know what some of his barks and yips mean, yes."

"So what's he barking?"

A growl and a _woof_ followed that question. Raya's lips curved and she reached out to stroke her hand over his shoulder, soothing the fractious dog.

"He says Conner should have insisted I stay home tonight." She cut him a look full of mischief. "And that woof isn't something I'm going to even bother with repeating." She coughed to hide her laugh. "Though I'm sure you can figure out what he called you all on your own." She stroked a hand over the dog's side again. "I'm quite sure you've heard that particular word often enough from Dick anyway."

His lips kicked up at the corners as he recalled all the words that Grayson had used to describe him. _Asshole is what the golden boy loves callin' me most of all, _he thought as he swallowed back a groan. It was the most fitting one. Next to dumbest son of a bitch to walk the planet, of course.

"So," he managed to say through clenched teeth. "How long ya been datin' the genetic freak?"

Talking helped distract him from the pain. Not being a jerk while talking? Well, that had always given him problems. It was one of the biggest reasons why he and the old man tended to fight. He shoved that thought aside, not in the mood at that moment to analyze his complicated relationship with his adoptive father and mentor.

"I have been dating _Conner_," Raya retorted with a small degree of heat, "for just a little over seven and a half months."

So, insulting the Superfreak riled her. Yet, there was a hint of something in her tone, in the way she specifically used Conner's given name that poked at his detective side. Why does she make it a point to call him Conner and not Superboy or Kal-El? He pondered that while she probed at his shoulder and collarbone Even her light touch was enough to have him muttering more than a few choice expletives. Not that he'd _admit_ that the pain was like hot lava being drizzled upon his flesh. Hell no. The woman already had enough power over him. She seemed to understand how much he was hurting and stopped poking at the wound when it became obvious that field triage wasn't exactly in the cards. Jason released a ragged breath and thanked whatever gods might have taken pity on his sorry ass.

"So how bad is it?" He angled his head to look at the wound but couldn't see anything. "Bad bad or do I just need a band-aid?"

"It's bad, Jason."

"Had worse."

She released a long, heavy sigh and glanced up at the sky, a wistful expression on her face. Jason didn't have to think hard about what she was hoping to see. _Who_, he clarified silently as he found himself glancing at the sky and half-hoping to see a bat-shaped plane swoop out from between the clouds.

"I need to get you to Alfred. You've lost a good deal of blood already and could lose even more if you aren't treated and soon."

Going to Alfred meant going to the Batcave. And the Batcave was the last place he was going to allow her to drag his happy ass.

"I'll be fine," he started to say, but Raya pinned him with a look that told him punching a hole in a solid steel door was going to be a helluva lot easier than swaying her from taking him back to the cave so that Alfred could tend his wound was gonna be. Well, just because he knew he had been dealt a losing hand didn't mean he had to lose _gracefully_. He gritted, "I ain't going ta the Batcave, Kit."

"You have two choices here, Jason." The velvet steel tone was all Bruce. "You can go willingly, or unwillingly. Pick which one you prefer."

He cursed, long and viciously.

"Curse all you want." Her tone was firm. "But to the Batcave is where you are going so that Alfred can tend to that shoulder."

"Why?" He gritted. "Yanno how the old man-"

"-will expect his Fenix to do what she is supposed to do," there was a brief pause. "Bring Robin home."

"I ain't a Robin. Not anymore."

"You're his son. The rule still applies."

Jason felt like he was slowly asphyxiating. _How the hell does Bruce put up with her_? He found himself wondering as he stared into those hard as glass eyes.

"Goddamn, it, woman, what the hell are ya hoping ta accomplish by dragging my ass back to that cave?"

"Right now?" She said with a little sniff. "I'm hoping to have better light, water, soap and proper medical supplies so I can see the extent of the damage and treat it."

"And here I was hoping ya were gonna tear me a bandage outta that black slip ya got on under your skirt."

"Is that... _humor_?" her lips twitched. "And here I was thinking sarcastic dickhead was about all you could manage."

"I'm full of surprises."

"I can see that." She peeked over the edge of the concrete block. "Got any surprising ideas for how we can get out of here without getting shot at by this mystery assassin?"

"We could always jump off the roof."

Krypto chose to respond by _whuffling_ a sound that was somewhere between a soft bark, yip, and doggy whine. Raya glanced over at him, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

"I think Jason knows that jumping off the roof without a grapnel line would not be so good for either of our life expectancies."

Krypto gave another bark before he hooked the hem of her skirt between his massive teeth and tugged on it.

"No, Krypto," she said with a shake of her head. "I'm not leaving. Not while Jason needs medical attention."

A series of yips and stomps specified Krypto couldn't give a damn about _his_ safety. No, the wonder mutt's primary concern and sworn duty if Jason had to hazard a guess was in getting _her_ out of harm's way. Something he and the Mutt held in common opinion.

"You need to go get Conner," he heard her tell Krypto. "We need his superhuman might in order to get Jason back to Alfred."

"I know I'm not your boyfriend, kiddo," a voice rumbled from above them. "But will Superman's strength do in place of that of Superboy's?"

...

As soon as that spotlight hit the sky, Bullock went to check on the sprocket. When he saw that she wasn't seated at her desk as she was supposed to be he let out a curse and raced from the squad room. He lumbered up the stairs as fast as his screaming knees and burning lungs would allow. _Shoulda gave up smokin' and doughnuts when the doctor told me ta_, he thought as he crested the final set of stairs, panting with the exertion. He ignored his body's loud, whining complaints about acting like a "fool twenty-year-old rookie instead of a nearly sixty-year-old veteran" and shoved his way out onto the roof.

What he saw made him immediately screech to a halt. Years in homicide instantly kicked in. The first thing that hit him was the coppery scent of blood and cordite that lingered upon the air. A gun had been shot and the bullet found a home in somebody's flesh. His eyes instantly scanned the two figures on the ground for clues as to who'd been the victim of the shooter's aim. He thought he recognized the young man with his arm draped lazily around the sprocket's waist as the Red Hood. The man's sweaty and slightly pale complexion confirmed him as the one who'd been shot. To the left of her, the white dog, Krypto, stood guard, the fur along the back of his neck ruffled and his eyes sharp as a hawk's. Yet, it was the sight of the man floating in the sky above the kids that held his attention rapt.

"Superman?" he wheezed out. "What're youse doing in Gotham?"

An engaging grin split the lips of the superhero. "I saw the Batsignal and suspected that it might be a call from the kiddo."

Bullock grunted and opened his mouth to reply, but a dark figure swooped out of the shadows to land on the roof, interrupting him. By the thunderous expression upon what little could be seen of the man's face, Harvey knew Batman wasn't thrilled about the situation. Not that he could blame him. He wasn't pleased about it, either.

"Oh, I know that look," Raya muttered as she looked at Batman. "That's the Batdaddy is mad and someone is gonna get it look."

Superman aimed a pointed look at her. "I'd be quiet or the one who might get it is _you_."

"Oh, I already know I'm gonna get it." She pulled a face. "That particular look spells grounded with a capital G."

Jason just snorted. "Being grounded ta the cave won't be so bad, Kit."

She gave him a look that had warning bells going off inside his head.

"Oh, don't be thinking you're outta the hot zone here, buddy boy," she told him.

One dark brow arched. "Excuse me?"

"Assassin shot _you_," she informed him in a prissy tone. "Means your ass is getting grounded to that cave, too."

"The hell ya..." he began but he trailed off when he felt something sharp pierce his neck. "What the hell?" he mumbled.

"I told you conscious or unconscious were the only two choices you were going to get."

"Ya cheated," he muttered as he started to slide towards unconsciousness.

"Yup," she replied cheerfully. "_BatDaddy_ taught his Fenix to fight smarter, not harder."

* * *

**A/N**: Hello my lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/fav button!


	18. Interrupted Plans

The moment he saw Superman sweep onto the scene, Deadshot knew he would not be earning his big pay day. Not that night, at least. If it had been Batman, or any of the other winged brats, he'd have simply loaded another round into the chamber and picked who'd get the bullet. Superman, however, was a problem no matter which way he wanted to look at it. There was absolutely nothing in his arsenal at that moment that could combat someone who was nicknamed the Man of Steel. If he was daring enough, stupid enough, and shot Superman, he'd merely brush off the bullet with a casual flick of his wrist. Superman was more dangerous to him than the Bat actually was. _I can't set up for another shot at the Hood or Berkeley's daughter so long as he's standing guard over them._

This was not chance. He did not, for one minute, believe that Superman's arrival at the GCPD, much less here in Gotham, was in any way some act of coincidence. He didn't believe in random chances for one thing and didn't believe Superman had casually decided to fly over to Gotham just to say hello for another. No, he suspected that the supply of kryptonite that Berkeley had purchased from Black Mask was the leading reason behind why the man had journeyed to Gotham. _Warned Berkeley that a stolen shipment of the only known substance that can hurt Superman or Superboy would bring attention we don't need. _

As for why Superman was here at the GCPD? Well, he rationalized that that was because the man had heard his shot as he was en route to his rendezvous with Batman. The man only had supersonic hearing to go along with that ability to withstand good ole fashioned bullets. He'd probably been on his way to the police building before that infernal spotlight had been flipped on even. His arrival on the scene had definitely complicated matters.

And while he didn't like it, he was a prudent enough man to realize that there was nothing he could logically do about it. Not if he wanted to make it out of there without attracting any more attention than he'd already managed to attract. It was completely reasonable, at least in his mind, to assume that Superman already had a good idea about which direction the bullet had been fired from. The man was not the simple-minded dolt that some people might like to think he was. He also decided that leaving while the going was still good was a more than sound conclusion. With that superhuman speed of his, Superman would be able to search every rooftop and building in just a few seconds. He saw that head turn in his direction, could almost picture that those electric blue eyes were staring right at him. A bead of sweat rolled down his face, chilling his overheated flesh. His hands began to shake, and his belly twisted in and around itself.

Yup, it was definitely time to leave.

_Berkeley is not going to like this development any..._

Not that that could be helped, really. He had not anticipated the arrival of the Man of Steel in Gotham and so had not thought to properly prepare for a possible confrontation with him. Just then he saw a demonic figure break through the sinewy arms of darkness to land on the roof of the complex. Realizing that the odds had just gone even more solidly against him, Deadshot stowed his rifle in its special case and quickly exited the roof.

...

Jason didn't know how; much less fully understand just why he'd agreed to this ridiculous plan of hers. No, scratch that, he knew exactly why he'd agreed to this bit of lunacy: _Raya_. She'd somehow managed to pull a fast one on him. There was just no other way to explain how it was that she'd managed to hit him with a tranquilizer dart. Where the woman even had had the damned thing hidden was beyond him. All he knew was that he was being transported to the cave so that Alfred could treat his wound. He would try and blame his susceptibility to her trickery upon pain and blood loss, but he knew neither had played a factor in his decision. No, the damn woman just had... _moves_. Slippery, sneaky, non-Batman taught _moves_. They weren't fast, but she'd executed them so smoothly, so silkily, he had had no time to think, much less prepare a proper defense against them.

_I allowed her to manipulate me_, he thought as he watched the city fly by him from behind a thick pane of tinted glass. _That's the honest to God's truth. I let Raya manipulate me because I will do anything in order to redeem myself in her eyes._

Later, after his shoulder had been taken care of and he'd returned to the quiet sanctity of his own apartment, he'd puzzle over how the hell one small, slip of a woman had managed to dig beneath every one of the ironclad defenses he'd built over the years and worm her way into his heart. _For now_, he told himself as the black automobile tore through the streets en route to the house he'd spent what amounted to be the best three years of his life, he needed to make sure every one of those defenses she'd managed to knock down had been rebuilt. And that they were twice as strong and just as solidly built as the subterranean caves snaking beneath the extensive grounds the huge mansion sat upon.

"Ya know all ya ever had ta do was pick up a phone and ask ta come home," he heard his younger self snark from what little space amounted to a back seat in the Batmobile. "Your pride and temper are what have kept us away."

Nah, still wasn't weird in the least that he was having an in-depth conversation with his younger self...

_There's a reason for why we've stayed away. For why we've never knocked upon that door._

"Yeah... and why's that?" he heard his younger self snark. "'Cause ya think they won't let ya in? That they'll shut the door in your face? Tell ya ta go ta hell? That's bullshit and ya know it."

It was bullshit. Realistically, Jason knew all he ever had to do was knock upon the huge oak door and he'd be allowed admittance into the house. He knew that he only had to say that he needed help and it'd be given to him without one word of complaint or protest. He knew internally that all he'd ever had to do was ask to come home and he'd be welcomed back with open arms. _Well, I'd be welcomed home by Alfie_, he thought as they left the city behind. _Bruce and Dick on the other hand? They'll ship my ass back to the gutters in a heartbeat_.

"Bruce and Dick both would welcome ya home and yanno it."

_Bullshit_.

"Ask them," his other self dared in a voice that made his teeth gnash. "I triple dog dare ya ta ask them."

Jason found himself wishing that time travel was possible. If it was his younger self would learn about smarting off to the wrong fella. Secretively, he knew his younger half was right. All he'd ever had to do was ask. Whatever it was that he'd needed; wanted, as long as it was within reason, the old man and Dickie bird would have done their best to have given it to him. However, what his _realistic_ side wasn't accounting for was the emotional side of the issue. His anger and resentment upon his awakening and discovering how Bruce had failed him by not avenging his death, for having replaced him with Drake, for _forgetting_ him, kept him from asking for any of the things that he wanted.

That smarmy little voice decided to whisper to him then about how, "Ya didn't even ask for any of the things ya wanted when ya were a kid."

_That's 'cause it'a done us no good ta ask for those things. Mom wasn't in a place ta give us what we wanted and Pops_...

"I ain't talkin' 'bout them," young Jason sighed. "I'm talkin' 'bout from Bruce. Or from Dick. Ya didn't ask either of them for the things that we wanted. That we really wanted."

_Sure I did_, Jason scoffed. _I asked them for_...

"Bullshit," his younger self snapped. "Ya asked them for unimportant bullshit!"

_I did not.  
_  
"Did so."

_Prove it,_ he challenged between gritted teeth.

"Ya asked Dick ta show ya how ta do a backflip kick, but never ta play a video game with ya. And ya asked the old man ta show ya how ta read a map, but never asked him ta toss a ball around the front yard."

'_Cause we knew he wouldna done it. We weren't Dickie boy.  
_  
"Ya so sure about that, Jay-bee?" His younger self heaved a sigh. "Or have ya just convinced yourself that he wouldna done any of those things because it's easier ta put all the blame on him?"

_Bruce ain't capable of doing any of the things that a father does with his kids.  
_  
"He did father things with Dick." A pause. "And with the hottie."

_Well, I ain't the golden boy_. He swallowed a groan as a bump in the road jostled his injured body. _And I got ninety-nine problems, but being a girl ain't one of them_.

He told himself it was perfectly okay to crack wise at himself. It was absolutely normal. _If ya can't laugh at yourself, ya can't laugh at the world, right_?

"Hottie don't care that we ain't the golden boy. She likes us just because we're us."

He snorted a laugh. _She don't know us well enough ta know if she likes us_.

"And yet here she is driving our sorry ass back ta the Cave in order ta get us medical treatment."

_She just feels guilty because our ass is the one that got shot._

...

"What are you doing here in Gotham?" Batman asked the second that the Batmobile's taillights disappeared around the corner at Cicero onto Tenth. He turned his head towards Clark, a faint smile curving his lips. "Not that I don't appreciate you being here..."

"We both know that you don't," Clark returned with an easy smile. At Bruce's snort, he said, "I know how much you hate when another hero swoops in to take care of something that you feel is your responsibility to take care of."

"You protected them, Clark," the caped hero rasped. "You..."

"No, I didn't," Clark denied with a shake of his head. "I didn't protect them."

"You..."

"I didn't get here until after the shot was fired."

He saw Bruce's eyes widen. "Are you telling me that _Jason_ protected _Raya_?" A pause was followed by, "That he…" another pause. "Put himself between her and the bullet?"

Clark flashed him a lopsided grin. "Why are you so surprised that he took a bullet for her? You've said yourself that he still has all the qualities that made him a good Robin locked down deep inside him. Well," he extolled upon a breath, "isn't protecting Raya from being shot one of those things he'd have done back when he was your protégé?"

"I'm not surprised that he protected her," Bruce replied quietly. "His desire to protect those who couldn't protect themselves was what made him a good Robin. But he's not Robin." A wealth of emotions throbbed in those four words: guilt, regret, anger the three most prevalent ones. "He's now the Red Hood, a vigilante who is bent by the anger that I had once hoped to channel into good."

"Tonight he was something more than that vigilante," Clark replied. "Tonight he was the man you've always thought him capable of being if he could curb that anger inside him."

"He hurt her," Bruce gritted. "He assaulted her verbally just a few weeks ago."

"So that's why you insisted that Raya and Conner move into the Manor," Clark said with a slow nod of his head. "It was as much about keeping Jason from getting to her as the assassins that Berkeley has hired."

"Yes."

Clark was silent for a number of moments. Finally, he looked at the dark figure beside him and said, "Look, Bruce, I know there are a legion of problems between you and Jason." He chose every word carefully. Despite the outward appearance of a glacier, Clark knew Bruce had an explosive temper. They'd crossed swords many times through the years. Yet this was one time where Clark could see what the venerable Dark Knight could not. "And yes, a few weeks ago, Jason hurt Raya and probably deeply. He possesses the same knack you do for saying cold and cruel things when he's hurt and angry. However..." he said before Bruce could launch into the heated retort he saw forming. "Tonight? Tonight he risked his life to protect Raya from whomever it was that fired that bullet." He waited half a second before adding, "Tonight it was _Robin_ who made sure the _Fenix_ got home safe."

Bruce didn't readily reply. Not that Clark expected him to do so. Bruce was about as capable of discussing his emotions as he was at getting cranberry juice from limestone. He watched as Bruce moved over to the wall by the roof access door, dark brows drawn down over the bridge of his nose. He saw him remove a small knife with a needle point from his utility belt before he began digging in a small hole. He twisted the knife and caught the fragment of a bullet in his gloved palm.

"You don't know who took a shot at them already?" He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "I figured you had a list of primary suspects at this point."

"No, I know who shot at them." Those eyes shifted towards him, burning like blue fire in the swirling shadows. "It was Deadshot."

"Deadshot? You're sure?" At Bruce's slight nod he indicated the bullet. "Well, if you know it was Deadshot, why are you retrieving the bullet then?"

"I want to compare the round that Deadshot used to shoot Jason with to the bullet the shooter used in the shooting at Gotham University." He held a second bullet up between two of his fingers. In its current condition it was hard to make out what grade of ammunition it even was. "I'm hoping I will be able to identify who the other shooter was from the first bullet, but use Lawton's to prove that they are working together as partners."

Both eyebrows shot up at that. "You're going to try and lift fingerprints off a shattered bullet?"

Why he was even surprised about that was beyond him. Nothing that Bruce said or did really should shock him. Not after nearly two decades of friendship.

"Yes." Bruce nodded, once. "And once I know who the other shooter is?" Clark could hear the dark emotions sliding over those quietly spoken words, charging them. "I am going to hunt them down. And I am going to make them pay."

Clark knew that wasn't a threat.

It was a _promise_.

* * *

**A/N**: Hello my lovelies!

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	19. Home

"She just feels guilty because our ass is the one that got shot..."

Raya heard Jason over the low roar of the Batmobile's high-powered five-cylinder engine, and reached over to set a hand on his arm in hopes that it would at least comfort and reassure the injured man.

"We'll be at the cave in just a few minutes," she told him in a subdued voice. "So just hold on, okay?"

"Mistake," he managed around a tongue she knew must have felt like cotton in his mouth. "It's a big mistake, Kit."

"What?" She frowned her confusion. "What's a mistake?"

"Takin' me ta the cave," he sighed. "It's a mistake. You'll see."

"No." She laid her hand over his, squeezed his fingers. "No, it's not a mistake."

"Yes..."

"Wayne Manor is your home, Jason," she stated firmly, "and we're your family."

"Kit," he rasped. "Dickie ain't gonna want me there. Nor is the kid. Or the super freak."

"_I_ want you there," she insisted stubbornly. "And so does Bruce. And Alfred."

"No, ya don't, Kit. Not really," he mumbled. "Ya just feel guilty because my sorry ass is the one that got shot."

She angled her head to look over at him, a stinging retort already upon her lips, but she saw those long lashes of his were falling down to rest upon ashen cheeks. Raya felt a shiver of alarm sweep, cold and clammy, over her. Jason was nearly as white as the snow lining both sides of the street. The contrast of that black hair and those black brows against that pale skin was a dramatic reminder about how this wasn't the first time he'd been courted by the Grim Reaper.

_And the son of a bitch won the last time because he had that damned clown helping him, _she thought hotly. _Well, I won't let Death have him. Not again. _Her fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard she heard bones cracking. The pain staved off the fear threatening to choke her. Raya had no way of knowing just how injured Jason was. Her cursory examination of his wound back at the GCPD only told her that he'd been shot clean through. Water and soap and proper lighting were all necessary in order for her to see the extent of the damage done by the bullet. At that moment, there were only six things that she knew with any concrete certainty:

The bullet had entered Jason's back right above his shoulder blade.

It had exited an inch below his clavicle bone.

He'd lost a great deal of blood.

He needed to get to Alfred.

The shooter had been aiming for her, not Jason.

And last, but certainly not least, she knew that the assassin who had taken the shot was Deadshot.

Of the last, Dick would say she was guessing at it being Deadshot, but Raya knew she was right. There was only one assassin in the world who could have made such an incredible shot: Floyd Lawton. Only someone who possessed Floyd Lawton's incredible sniper skills could have made a shot from such an impossible angle. Only someone with Lawton's years of experience would have known that the one building that was even remotely capable of being used to snipe a target standing on the roof of the GCPD was the Gotham Federal Trade Building. Only someone like Lawton would know to take the distance between the roof of the GCPD and GFTB and adjust his shot by factoring in wind ratio and direction. Lawton selecting that particular building for his sniper's nest didn't surprise her any. It was the place she'd have chosen if she was trying to snipe a target on the roof of the GCPD.

That he was there on that particular night, though? That had her stunned. Raya frowned as she turned onto the barren service road that led to the underground entrance into the Batcave. Lawton being in position that night for an assassination attempt suggested he had an inside man somewhere in the GCPD who was feeding him information about her work schedule. It was the only way he could have known she'd be there. Lawton wasn't one to waste time on chance. He'd want to be assured that she'd be there. So someone had called and told him when she'd arrived.

The question, though, was who?

Pieces began to fall into place as she started stringing her memories of the nights events together. The world outside the windshield fell away as she visualized the events leading up to Jason calling her out onto the roof. The GCPD had been a beehive of activity until calls came in that required officers to be dispatched to various parts of the city. Bullock had gone to oversee a crime scene down at Gotham Docks while Uncle Jim had left to take care of a situation at Gotham General. The mayor had then called his huge press conference and required even more officers to be dispatched. It had been her and Saunders alone in the bullpen after Volamsky left with Tate to respond to a domestic dispute over in Carrington Heights. Of those three men, only Saunders was one she believed could be bought by her father.

_Will have Bruce run a check on him after he returns to the cave_, she decided as she pressed a button on the steering wheel to open the secret entrance. _And if it was Saunders who told Lawton I was there_...

Once Lawton got the tip that she was there at the GCPD, it was a given- after some artful manipulation- that something would happen that would require the need for the Batsignal to go up. It was also perfectly logical that _she'd_ be the one to go out onto the roof and call for Batman if her uncle wasn't around to do so. From there it was just a matter of waiting for her to present him with that one perfect shot he needed; wanted. Jason was the only anomaly that Lawton hadn't counted upon. He couldn't have known, much less predicted how Jason would choose that night to confront her. Or that he would stop Lawton's perfect plan from succeeding by putting himself between the bullet and her. However...

_Father likely told Lawton to shoot him anyway_.

She imagined the steering wheel to be her father's throat and clenched down so tightly that her knuckles popped. It wasn't just her that her father wanted to hurt. It was also Batman. _Best way to hurt Bruce is by hurting any one of us_. Killing her was just her father's particular way of getting even with Bruce for having taken her in, given her a home and the strength to confront him. He'd never forgiven him for having interfered with his New Years plan to kidnap his own daughter from her warm bed.

However, the emotional pain killing her would cause Bruce was less than what killing a man known to once have been one of Batman's protégés would cause. It was no secret that following the death of his second Robin that Batman had flirted with breaking his rule about not killing. The Dark Knight had started to slip, to falter, to topple off his sanctimonious mountain into that legendary pit of no return before they'd managed to pull him back. Losing Jason a second time could be more than enough to cause Bruce to take that plunge into the dark abyss.

_And we might not be able to pull him back this time_.

Fear and worry as much as guilt gnawed at Raya. The idea of Jason dying from his heroic move did more than merely stab at her conscience. It completely shredded her heart and soul. Even as much as his youngest son tended to annoy the ever loving shit out of him, Bruce cared about him and would do everything he had to in order to keep him safe. He'd nearly been broken by losing his youngest son once. She'd be damned if he'd lose Jason again. She plunged into the tunnel hidden behind the illusion of a solid rock wall and expertly traversed the winding pathway. Every dip and turn made her imagine she was traversing the labyrinthine caverns of her own heart rather than those leading home.

Less than a minute later she was pulling the Batmobile onto a steel ramp that lifted the infamous automobile onto a ramp that was protected by the gigantic Tyrannosaurus Rex that Bruce had kept out of some perverse amusement. Struggling to push the emotions hammering at her back into their proper place, Raya shut the engine off and emerged from the car into the subdued interior lighting Bruce installed years ago, into the interior of the underground fortress she'd grown up in, to where Alfred and two other figures stood waiting in the medical bay. Her only thought as she lifted her head and stared into Dick and Tim's carefully blanked gazes was, _Oy vey_.

...

As soon as Raya radioed that she was bringing an injured Jason to the Batcave, Alfred had readied a kit and gone to the medical wing to wait for their arrival. Conner had gone down to the lower platform in order to help with getting Jason moved up to the medical bay. Raya had barely pulled the Batmobile to a stop before he was reaching in and carefully lifting the semi-conscious man out. He didn't need to see to know that the front of Jason's armor was soaked in blood. He could smell it as soon as he opened the door. Instantly alarmed, he shot a worried look at his girlfriend, scanning her entire frame for signs of injury. He saw nothing discernible, beyond that the front of her cream colored skirt and blazer were tie-dyed crimson.

"Are you...?" he asked in a strangled breath. "Damn it, Raya."

"I'm fine, Conner," she quickly assured him. "Jason protected me. He saved me, in fact."

Hollow-eyed, pale and far from fine was his opinion. He didn't press at her, knew she was already stressing enough about Jason and didn't need him hammering at her, too.

"He saved you?" he questioned as he carefully crossed the platform to the stairs that led up to the main grotto. "Saved you from what, exactly?"

"He saved me from being shot," he heard her whisper. "He put himself between me and the bullet, Conner." She lifted stricken eyes to his. "He saved my life tonight."

No matter what all Jason had done since coming back to life a year ago, he owed the man his gratitude. _I don't have to like you to be grateful for you protecting my woman, _he told the unconscious man as he carefully laid him on the bed and stepped back to allow Alfred to begin a cursory examination of his injury. _I don't even have to forgive you for what you did to her in order to be thankful that you were there to save her tonight. And I will say thank you because I am thankful. Without you, she might not be here right now for me to yell at for not staying home as I begged her too._

"You said you were going to the GCPD just so you could finish up the prep work for your court appearance next week," Conner sighed. "What the hell happened?"

"Deadshot," was her quiet reply. "Deadshot is what happened, Conner."

Three pairs of eyes, all the same exact shade of blue turned upon her at that moment.

"Are you sure, Rae?" Dick stepped forward to help Alfred with removing Jason's armor. "Are you sure that it was Lawton?"

"I'm positive it's Lawton who was the shooter, Dick."

"How?" Tim waited until she glanced at him before demanding, "How do you know it was Deadshot that tried to shoot you? Did you physically see him?"

"No." She shook her head. "No, I didn't physically see him, Tim. But I didn't need to see Lawton to know it was him. I just know for a fact that it was him."

None of them questioned how it was that she knew that it'd been Deadshot who'd attempted the hit on her. They merely accepted that however Raya had come to the conclusion that Floyd Lawton was the one who'd pulled the trigger, well then he was the one who had, indeed, pulled that trigger. Conner moved and took her in his arms. He could feel the shudder that rolled through her and rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles.

"You're home now," he said, resting his cheek against her crown. "And you're okay. That's all that matters."

"At Jason's expense, Conner." She turned ravaged eyes upon Dick and Tim. "I know he's said and done a lot of really awful things to you both. And he's gone out of his way to make Bruce's life hell since he came back. But..."

"He's hurt everyone here," Tim cut in. "_You_ most recently, Raya."

Conner felt her moist breath as it slid across his overheated flesh. "I know that, Tim. I know he's hurt everybody here...and _you_ most of all given the viciousness of his attack upon you in Titan Towers. Nonetheless..."

"Why were you even out on the roof of the GCPD with him?" Tim demanded in a hard whisper. "What were you thinking?" Conner could see that his bud was all but vibrating with the depth of his worry and anger. "How could you have gotten anywhere near Jason after what he did to you?"

"Tim, what's in the past," Dick began but the younger hero rounded on him, a wordless snarl twisting his lips.

"No! Don't give me that forgivance speech!" He spat. "He doesn't deserve it! Not after everything he has done!"

Conner, as well as Dick and Raya found they could do nothing but stand there and gape at Tim. Explosions of frustration were not _uncommon_ with Tim. Even still, Conner knew it was rare for him to ever turn that anger on Dick. _Or Raya_, he added silently. Whatever was bothering Tim, it went deep. It was Dick who finally shook off his surprise enough to be able to form a reply.

"I'm not asking you to forgive him, Tim. And neither is Raya. What we..."

"You can't tell me that you aren't uncomfortable with him being here, Dick."

Conner heard the tempered edge to Tim's voice and realized that this was less about Jason Todd being in the Batcave as much as it was a concern about Raya opening herself up to another of Jason's verbal attacks. He opened his mouth to let him know that that wouldn't happen, but Dick beat him to the punch.

"I'm not going to deny that I am uncomfortable about Jason being here," Dick said with a slight shake of his head. "I'm very uncomfortable with him being here. However..."

"I would be dead if Jason hadn't put himself between me and that bullet," Raya finished for him. She glanced first at Dick and then up at Conner before finally looking over at Tim. "And for me?" she spoke gently now, and all the more effective because of it. "That wipes the slate clean."

* * *

**A/N**: Hello my lovelies!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/fav button!


	20. Kryptonic Jerk

Conner knew that the God of Dreams always came late in the night, when someone's mind was its most vulnerable and their control at its very lowest. He was quite familiar with this personification of nightmares and dreams, having been the hero standing against Phobetor for the nine months he'd been with Raya. He did whatever he could to keep this vicious and mercurial God from tormenting her, from needlessly torturing her.

One could deny, could even reject the possibility of retaliation by day, but Conner knew it had always been a matter of time before Icelus would send his deceptive father to lull him into a state of false security. That he came just a few days after Deadshot tried to kill both Raya and Jason came as no surprise to him. He stared into those smoke colored eyes that were as hard and cold as glass without fear. He listened to that vaporous laugh that was just as cruel as Raya told him it was without shuddering. However, there was nothing he could do when the mercurial god tossed him back in time to a night that was both his greatest joy…

….and his greatest nightmare.

* * *

**Cadmus Labs**

_Nine months ago._

Conner reached the basement of Cadmus Labs, paused as he tried to reason out which room they'd put her in before diving into the one his left. It proved to be the correct room as he found her encased in a glass tube. She'd been stripped of her body armor and her mask, and there were dozens of cuts and bruises visible to his naked eye marring that smooth, creamy flesh. Anger rose up to choke the mind numbing fear of the past several days. That they'd taken her, that they'd hurt her infuriated the young superhero. Yet there was a small dose of that fury for the small woman kneeling inside her prison cell with her eyes closed. To protect _him _Raya'd sent him on a fake mission. To keep _him _safe, she'd sacrificed _herself_.

As if he was going to allow the fool woman to trade _her _life for _his_.

He crossed the room quickly. She must have heard him because she blinked open her eyes at that moment and fixed them upon him. The slightly disoriented, pain-filled look upon her face tore him into a billion pieces. Then her expression relaxed into that quietly intense one he'd come to realize was her masked one. He knew it wasn't that she didn't trust him enough to leave her guard down. Oh no, it was the dozens of cameras all around the room that were forcing her to put her public mask on. Especially since she'd been stripped of every one of her other protective guards. The Fenix was vulnerable at that moment and protecting herself in the only way she had left to her. Once the mask was in place she looked at him.

"Get out," she croaked. Then louder, "get out of here!"

"Be quiet," he growled at her. "I'm going to get you-"

"No!" She surged to her feet and faced him, her hands trembling upon the glass. "You have to get out of here! Now! Go!"

He opened his mouth to blister her ass for giving _him _orders when _she _was the one in danger, but then his supersonic hearing picked up the static tattoo of her heartbeat. _Fear? _he thought with more than a mild bit of concern. That... was not normal. He'd seen this woman face down death and not have it cause her heart to miss as much as one half of a beat.

_But I can see that she's clearly afraid. _His brow puckered. _What- who is she afraid of, though? _he found himself wondering as he studied her. That was what he wanted to know. Know _who_ and _what_ allowed him to figure out the _how _and_ why_. Once he knew that he could get her the hell out of that tube and away from the lab.

"Ra-"

"Please, just go, Conner!" she pleaded with him now. "Get out of here before it's too late!"

He reached the tube at the same time as those words tumbled from her fractured lips. "I'm not leaving you here," he told her. "I'm-"

"It's a trap, you damned blockhead." Frustration intermingled with a cornucopia of other emotions swimming upon that staggering face. She banged on the glass with her hands. "Don't you get it, Conner? It's a _trap_! Cadmus is trying to get their hands on _you_ and they are using _me_ as the bait on their line."

"Yeah," he stated in a cool tone, "because you _allowed_ yourself to get trapped by them. Rather than…"

"No!" She slammed her hand against the glass. "I didn't allow myself to get caught by them, you meathead! I got sold out!"

"Oh, yeah?" he drawled. "Well, why don't you tell me who sold you out?"

"Gee…" sarcasm rolled off her tongue like honey. "If I knew that I wouldn't be stuck in here."

"Well, gee," he said in tones coated in sugared acid. "If you weren't here in the first place…"

"I'm here because Superman asked me to come here, you kryptonian ass."

He hadn't counted on that. _But_…

"Wait." Confusion ripped along never ending as his brain worked to process how she hadn't actually come here on her own orders. "Superman _asked_ you to come here?" Even after he saw her nod he couldn't bring himself around to accepting that he heard her correctly. "You're actually here with _official_ JLA authorization?"

"Yes, I am." Raya raked one hand through her hair before giving him a look that said she didn't much appreciate his doubting her. When he didn't apologize, she sniffed, pointedly, and said, "I was called to Mount Justice a week ago and given my orders."

"And exactly what did Superman and the rest of the council task you with doing?" He gave her a suspicious look. "Because I don't think that getting caught by Cadmus was what they wanted you to do here."

Raya gave him a dirty look. "Superman asked me to infiltrate Cadmus."

"He asked you to infiltrate Cadmus?" His lips curled. "Don't think so, Raya."

He smirked when she barred her teeth at him in a wordless snarl. It wasn't like she could do anything to him while she was still encased in that glass tube. _It isn't like she will do anything once she is out of that glass tube_, he added silently.

"Fine," she huffed. "He also asked me to create a distraction so that he and the others could stop Cadmus."

Conner rocked back at her revelation. He couldn't believe that Superman would have requested she take on such a dangerous mission by herself. Then he realized that Superman didn't know who exactly he was dealing with. He felt anger churn in his belly and burn in his throat. A good portion of it was for his somewhat father. However the majority of it was aimed at the woman staring at him from the other side of a glass coffin.

"So," he said slowly, the blunt edge of his rising temper like ash in his mouth. "Superman knows you're here?" He saw her nod again. "And Batman is okay with it?"

"Yes, he knows. They _all_ know," she breathed out in one long exhalation of air. "Now, please, Conner, just go."

_Like hell I'm going_, was his thought.

"Why didn't you talk with me about what was going on?" he growled. "Why didn't you just _ask_ me to just sit this one out? You should have told me about what was going on."

"Conner," she tried to explain. "I knew that if the League asked you to stand down that you'd outright refuse. And that you'd just talk the other Titans into helping you mount an attack."

He grunted a noncommittal reply. No way was he going to admit that she was right. Not when she was totally in the wrong.

"You still shoulda told me about what was going on," he grumbled at her. "You should not have kept this from me. You shouldn't have excluded me from the plan."

"Conner." She didn't growl it. She just sounded... _exhausted_. Conner studied the tube again, looking for some way in which to free her from the enclosure. "I knew if we told you that Cadmus was after you, that they'd been making threats against Mrs. Kent and the Titans, it would only piss you off. Make you reckless. And I knew you'd come here to make them pay for threatening someone you care about." The slight smile that curved her lips quickly turned into a grimace. "You're quite predictable in that regard."

He frowned his confusion. "Why would they make threats against Ma? Superman would hurt them himself if they dared to try and hurt her."

"They knew that you'd sacrifice yourself, turn yourself over to them in order to protect her. Or Clark. Or," she added on a soft sigh, "any of the Titans."

_Most especially Tim or Cassie, _he thought with a pang of dread. Conner had to give Raya credit, though. She knew precisely what he would have said, how he would have felt, and exactly how he'd have reacted. Still...

"Why?" he demanded. "Why is Cadmus so hellbent on getting their hands on me?"

"They are planning to turn you and use you to destroy Luthor," she replied in a subdued tone. "And once you accomplish that, they plan to kill _you._"

"That's why you sent me on that bogus mission..." he said slowly. "You knew what they were planning."

"Yes. Now, please." Her breath fogged the glass. "Go."

"Why would you agree to this?" he set his hand on the glass by one of hers, aching with the want and need to reach through and touch her. "You knew they'd try to break you. You knew they'd torture you. Why would you subject yourself to this?"

_Why would you risk everything for me_? was what he really wanted to ask. If it was Tim, Dick, Alfred, Barbara and James Gordon or Bruce Wayne, he'd have gotten why without having to even think about it. Raya would risk anything and everything in order to protect her family. But he wasn't family. Nor was he her best friend. So why had she forsaken it all in order to keep him safe? It wasn't like Superman had asked her to sacrifice life and limb in order to protect him.

What he saw swirl into that jeweled gaze then made his heart stop beating for almost a minute. Her mask completely disintegrated. Her face, at that moment, was completely naked and raw. And so achingly vulnerable that it tore thin slash marks in his heart and soul. Every single thought and emotion she was feeling was openly visible to him. He could see every ounce of her pain. It mixed with a tidal wave of guilt and fear, a soul-deep anger and hatred, and a bottomless pit of shame and sadness.

What shook the young hero to the core of his being, though, was the _love _he saw reflected back at him. It was so profound that it overrode everything else in her gaze. Time slowed to a crawl as he stared into her eyes, seeing the truth at long last and understanding just why she was here. She was in love with him. That's why she was sacrificing herself in order to save him. She loved him. And just like she did with every damn thing else in her life that was personal, she'd waited until the final moments were on the clock before actually telling him. _And without giving me a chance to tell her that I love her, too_.

The sound of voices shouting out in the hallway broke the moment. Everything he'd just seen was swallowed back behind the facade she'd spent her entire life perfecting.

"Conner, go!" she beseeched him again. "Please! Go before they catch you."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"You can't save me, Conner." Her fingers curled upon the glass. "Not this time. If you try you'll just end up filling this tube with the kryptonite they have in a lead box above me. And then," she declared even as he released a string of violent curses, "my sacrifice will be for nothing because they will have you in their clutches."

"No..." he gritted. "I'll figure out a way to get you out of there without springing the locks on that damned container."

Her eyes met his, and Conner saw they were bleak now with resignation_._ As if she knew her fate and accepted it.

"You can't save me, Kon-El," she spoke gently now, and all the more effective for it. "But I can save _you. _So go. _Live_. And protect this world from those who routinely try to destroy it."

It was the first and only time she'd ever used his kryptonian name. It was more intimate to him than a kiss. Pleasure coursed through him, hotter than the sun and twice as potent. Yet even as his body hummed with delight, alarms screamed inside his head at what her using his kryptonian name meant. Raya never called him Kon-El. Or Kon. From the moment he first met her she'd called him Conner. And when he asked why she'd said simply, "It means that you're wise and strong."

Hearing her call him Kon-El now was almost more final than saying goodbye. It hurt, one deep, throbbing ache in the pit of his stomach, a slow, twisting twinge in the heart. He wasn't going to stand for it.

"Do you honestly think that you can tell me you love me, use my kryptonian name and then send me on my way? And expect that I am just going to do it?"

"I didn't tell you I love you."

"Your eyes did."

She scoffed. "They did no such thing."

"Yes, they did." His voice was relentless. A part of him felt as if he was in the middle of quicksand and slowly being sucked under despite his every effort to push to the surface. "Your mask fell off and revealed everything you've kept locked away inside that pretty little head of yours."

"Is now-"

"The right time for us to be having this particular discussion?" He shook his head. "No. It isn't. But you cannot run away while you are locked up in there."

"I'm not running away!" She slapped at the glass, and her voice started to hitch with her fear and desperation. "I just want you to go before they catch you!"

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

He folded his arms across his chest and met her stubborn gaze with his own. "Why are you risking your life to protect me? If you don't love me..." he cocked his head to the side. "Then there has to be another reason."

"You're Tim's best..."

"Try again."

She frowned at him. "You're Dick's..."

"Nope."

Now she glared. "You're a Tit-"

"Don't think so." He smirked when she let out a stream of virulent curses. "Keep going," he suggested cheerfully. "You might _finally_ hit on an answer that I will _actually_ believe at some point."

The sounds of footsteps echoed in the hallway right outside the room. Time was running out. Raya shot a worried look at the doorway before focusing back upon him.

"Why are you being so stubborn, Conner?" she asked quietly. "Why can't you accept that I am doing this because you are worth doing this for and leave it at that?"

"I would if it was the only reason for why you are doing this. But we know it's not." He stepped up to the cylinder and peered down at her. "You wouldn't risk tearing your family apart for such flimsy reasons, Raya. So tell me the real reason for why you're doing this."

"I've told you why," she insisted stubbornly.

"No, you've tried to dance around the subject is what you've done. Now tell me why."

"I've told-"

"Why."

She growled. "Look, you-"

"Why."

"Conn-"

"Why, Raya."

She slammed her palms against the glass, hard enough to rattle the box held by a single chain at the top. "Because I'm in love with you, you kryptonic jerk."

* * *

**A/N**: Hello my lovelies! I hope the New Year has been good to you thus far!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/fav button!

**S/N:** Thanks to the guest who reminded me I needed to put a small blurb up with this chapter to say that this used to be a part of a story I started last year and took down.


	21. Nocturnal Discussions

Conner opened his eyes and took a moment to allow the dream that was also his greatest nightmare to fade. The other night at the GCPD wasn't the first, and he'd long come around to the conclusion that it was not going to be the last time that someone tried to use death to separate him and Raya. People seemingly loved trying to kill them. _There's always going to be someone who is going to want one or the both of us dead_. It was the price for being crime fighters. _You just can't mess around with criminals like the Joker and not expect to make enemies_. However, it wasn't just Raya that Lawton's bullet would have taken away from him.

It would also have been his unborn child, as well.

Just thinking about how he could have lost the two people that meant the world to him had raw, powerful emotions pumping into his system like a fast-acting drug. He was edgy, his every nerve ending sizzling with enough energy to light all of Gotham. He could feel… too much. He was waiting for his system to either implode from the pressure or explode in one catastrophic blast. He let out a ragged breath and willed his rampaging heart to stop circling the American Speedway. Even having Raya home safe hadn't alleviated his fear and anxiety any. _And that's because I know that just because she is home and safe doesn't mean the threat is not still out there_, he thought as he sat up in the bed. The threat was going to remain out there until they could cut its head off. To do that, however, would require one of them to break the golden rule about killing.

It wasn't like he _hadn't _considered killing Matthew Berkeley a time or two, of course...

Discovering he was about to become a father, a fact which they'd yet to share with the rest of the family because of the horrible timing involved, changed the rules of the game. No longer were their choices or their lives their own. Every decision they made had to be painstakingly examined, all the possibilities taken into consideration and every potential angle explored. Bold and brash had gone out the window with reckless the second he heard his son or daughters heart beating. _Now how to explain that to a woman who was raised by two parents in law enforcement_…

Conner glanced to his left, half expecting to find the woman he was thinking about curled on her side, fast asleep. However, the place where Raya was _supposed_ to be sleeping was vacant. He knew she'd been there at some point in time, however. He could smell that uniquely exotic scent that was hers upon the sheets still.

_It's not like I need to take a guess about where she's at, _he mused with a softly sighed chuckle.

Raya had camped out in Jason's room his first night home because she'd been worried he'd somehow manage to slip out while they were all asleep. Dick had teased her about being as "paranoid as Bruce," but Conner had understood that it was just Raya needing to fuss and worry, to nurture and protect. Jason was a member of her family, after all. _An estranged member, _he mentally corrected as he folded his arms and placed them behind his head. But a family member still, nonetheless. That first night had passed in relative peace and quiet, largely because of the pain medication and sedatives Alfred had given to him while treating his wound. Jason had refused the medication the next evening, though, claiming that he wasn't in enough pain to want, or need the oblivion that the drugs offered.

_He shoulda taken the meds, _Conner thought as he stared up at the ceiling. _His nocturnal secret would still be safe had he not been such a stubborn asshole_. That another member of the Batfamily suffered from night terrors came as no real surprise to him. All of them had varying degrees of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. _You can't be a crime fighter and not have it damage you physically or mentally_. It was their damage, their traumas that united the members of this family together. Their personal traumas were the chains that linked them all together. Each and every one of them had had their lives affected somehow by one common factor: _death_.

_It's the one thing uniting me and Jason, as well_...

Conner's brow knitted as that realization dawned. It wasn't Dick and Bruce, being Titans, or even Raya that linked him with Jason. It was _Death_ in all its cold cruelty that tied the two of them together. Death had reached his skeletal hand up from the abyss and pulled them into his twisted version of Neverland. They'd both faced the things that were waiting for them on the other side. And they'd both had the hands of time bring them back from Death's play zone.

However, his own shocking bond with Jason wasn't the one keeping the injured man at Wayne Manor. No, the chains keeping Jason at Wayne Manor were the ones that united him with Bruce and Raya. All three were plagued by night terrors. The traumas they'd endured as small children had left bloody gouges in their psyche that never healed. All three tended to avoid sleep because of the things that would cause them to awaken and howl their fears into the night. Where Raya had Bruce Dick, Tim and himself to comfort her when the waves of fear crashed over her, Jason had nobody there to help him ride out the storm of his traumas with.

_Well_, he corrected with a grin that edged towards sheepish. He'd had nobody until he decided to tangle with Raya all those weeks back. Even with as hurt as she'd been following his vicious attack on her, she'd still sought a way to understand and explain his reasoning for it. For weeks she'd searched for the underlying cause, for the reason for why Jason had lashed out at her as he had. Rational was, he knew, Raya's approach to every situation. If she could understand the _why_, she could figure out the _how_. Once she knew _how_, she could work out how to _fix_. And if there was one thing he'd learned about Raya in the nine years he had known her, it was that she lived to _fix _things. People, cars, computers, it didn't matter what it was. His woman was a fixer.

_And she wants to fix him_.

Learning that Jason suffered from night terrors same as her and Bruce had given Raya the final piece she needed. Knowing him to be just as tortured as Bruce and her had only served to deepen a bond that had started forming between them during that very first confrontation. _A bond Jason doesn't see, realize or think is capable of forming, _he realized then. That, he knew, was because Jason could not see himself as forgivable; redeemable_. Even when he was Robin he didn't think he belonged-really belonged to the family. _His lips curled at one corner. _Well, Raya will relieve him of that notion quick enough._

Yup, if there was another thing that he knew about his woman, it was that she had absolutely no problem with verbally smacking one of her moody brood back into place. Raya had stopped being afraid of speaking her mind a long time ago. She'd have no problem kicking Jason's backside all over the Batcave for ever thinking he didn't belong, that he didn't matter, that he'd been forgotten. Then, once she was done busting his tail feathers, she'd set about settling and soothing away every one of his fears and insecurities.

_I just wish she was here to settle and soothe my fears and insecurities_, he grumped to himself.

Realizing that he'd have to physically go and get his woman if he wanted to spend the rest of the night sleeping with her in his arms, Conner kicked the covers off, hitched on a pair of sweats, and padded from the room on bare feet. Wayne Manor echoed with a burning silence. It was a constant Conner had grown used too. It always felt as if the huge mansion was wrapped in the arms of the cold shadows that he could see slithering across the polished floors. The ghosts of those long dead danced in every dark corner and were around every bend. The tangled web of memories shrouding this house ran deep. The walls sighed and wept with the secrets hidden deep inside the Manor's brick and wooden infrastructure. It was all a comforting familiar as he navigated his way over to the door that was three down from his own.

Yosemite Sam pouring out of the slightly ajar door took him completely by surprise. _He watches Looney Toons when he can't sleep_? His eyebrows shot up even as a lopsided grin crept over his face. _Who woulda thought it_? Conner nudged the door open with his foot and found that Jason was sitting up in the bed, his gaze riveted upon the smaller figure curled on her side beside him. A frown twisted the younger man's brow and matched the stupefied expression upon his face.

"Why the hell are ya sleepin' in here?" he heard him murmuring to her in a sleep-filled rasp. "Ya should be sleepin' down the hall."

_I agree_, Conner told him silently. Aloud though he said, "She's sleeping in here because she's afraid you'll run away while she's asleep."

He watched as that expression, so open a few moments before, became as closed as the shutters on the bedroom window.

"I ain't going nowhere," Jason grumbled. He shot a look at Conner from beneath lowered lashes. "Not for right now at least."

Conner leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and crossed his right ankle over his left. "Raya doesn't want you to leave at all."

"That so?"

"That's so."

Jason had the audacity to snort. "Well, she's gonna be mighty disappointed then," he stated with a smirk. "I ain't planning on stickin' around here for much longer. Had enough of this place already."

Not even he could have cut through the wave of anger that rolled off those words. It slapped at him, tried to push him out of the room, to shove him away before he could get any closer than he was. Conner pushed back at it, however, equally as stubborn as the man simmering on the bed.

"Why?" he demanded in a low whisper. "Why won't you stay?

"Whataya mean why?" Jason gritted. "It's clear ta me about why I ain't stayin'."

"Is it because she wants you to stay? Or because you wan..."

"It's cause it ain't my..." Jason cut-in before Conner could finish that statement.

"Home?" Conner barked a short laugh. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Jason. One day you might actually believe it's true."

Conner watched as a dangerous glint flashed through those electric eyes. It was a stark reminder about there being a side of this man that most definitely could not be classified as a nice one. Even as a teenager there'd been a wild and unpredictable side to Jason Todd. He'd been harder, rougher, and more resilient. Most of that came from having grown up on streets that had not cared that he'd been kid. He'd lived a different life than Dick, been forced to make choices meant to ensure he'd do one thing: _survive_. Those skills had given him all the potential in the world to be a great Robin. On the other hand, his experiences had left him with a moral ambiguity in direct opposition to that of the man mentoring him. _That willingness to do whatever is necessary is a big part of the contention between him and Bruce now_, he thought as he folded his arms across his chest.

"The hell do ya know about what I think and feel?" Jason demanded. "Ya don't know dick about me. Or about what I am thinkin' and feelin'."

"I know you're doing everything that you can to justify a reason for leaving," Conner replied. "And you're coming up short because there's not one damned good reason for why you should."

"Bull…" Jason growled. Conner just ignored him and continued talking. Someone needed to tell the man the truth, he reasoned. And the way he saw it? He was just the right man for the job.

"I get that you're scared. Last time you let yourself believe that someone gave a shit about you, they let you down."

Jason's lips peeled back in a wordless snarl. He'd hit a nerve and knew it. However, fact was fact. Bruce had let Jason down by not being there when he'd really needed him to be. Conner knew that that defection had deepened Jason's already complicated feelings of parental abandonment. However, he didn't apologize for any hurt that his words might have caused. It was time that Jason confronted the past and either laid it to rest, or allowed it to swallow him the rest of the way.

"So the old man left me for dead," he said with a smirk. "I was gonna end up dead at some point anyway. Ain't like anybody was all that surprised when it finally happened."

"Yeah, you can keep telling yourself that nobody gave a shit when you died," Conner told him. "But we both know that it's bullshit."

Jason went to spring off the bed but a look was enough to convince him that trying anything with the hole in his arm was only going to hurt _him_ more than it would Conner. He settled for sneering instead. "Watch it, _Superboy_,"

"Or you'll do what, _Hood_?" He jeered right back. "We both know that you are no match for me. Especially not with your shoulder shot up as it is."

Jason swore, long and foully. "Look ya son of a..." He broke off into a grunt when he jostled his injured arm. "Goddamn it," he hissed. Conner knew the pain radiated from more than just his injured shoulder, though. A small crack in that armor had shown him that Jason's pain went all the way down into his soul. _Just reach out to them_, he told him silently. _We both know you want too_. Even as he thought, he knew that Jason wouldn't. Pride kept him from reaching out to the family who'd embrace him if he'd just let them. He let out a soft breath as he shoved away from the wall.

"Look, why don't you just take it easy?" he suggested. "I didn't come in here to fight with you, anyway."

"Why're ya in here?"

"Why do you think?" He flashed him a grin. "Cause Raya is asleep in here." At Jason's blank stare he said, "I want her to be asleep with _me_..." he paused, let his smile stretch wider. "In _our _room."

"Ah." A grin that edged towards sheepish briefly graced Jason's lips. "Been wondering why she was sleeping in here with me and not with ya."

"I've already told you why she's asleep in here."

He crossed the room and carefully lifted his sleeping girlfriend up into his arms.

"Yeah, ya said she's afraid ta wake up and find my happy ass gone."

"That's right," Conner said even as Raya made a small murmur of protest for being jostled. He shushed her with a soft kiss to her forehead. "Go back to sleep."

"Okay, meathead," she said a second before burying her face into his throat and going back to sleep.

Jason snorted. "Yeah, looks ta me like she'd forget about me right quick enough."

Conner glanced at Jason; saw the brief flash of open and raw vulnerability that flittered across the younger man's face. _Give it up, man_, he thought. _You want to be here. You want to belong._

"No, she wouldn't," he told him quietly. "She'd never forget you, Jason. And she'd come for you. Even if you told her that you didn't want her, too." He bent a bemused look upon the woman asleep in his arms. "She'd come for you _especially_ if you told her you didn't want her, too."

"Right-"

"Raya would go through the Joker, Crane, her father, even the devil to get to you. To get to any of us," he said before Jason could finish his statement. "And that is what scares the hell out of all of us. We are _her _kryptonite. And the Joker, Crane and her father all know it."

Jason muttered something that Conner chose not to hear. From what it sounded like, it wasn't overly nice anyway. "Why does she care so much about me?" he finally rasped. "She don't even know me."

"One," Conner replied as he turned to leave. "She just does. That is the beauty of a woman's heart. Two," he said even as Jason scoffed. "She doesn't need to know your every dark secret to care about you. No law says she has to know everything about you in order to care for you. And three?" He hid a grin as he glanced over his shoulder; saw the baffled expression that was upon Jason's face. "Because she promised Bruce she'd do one thing for him a few months ago."

"Oh?" Jason gazed at him, suspicion as well as interest in his eyes; upon his face. "And what's that?"

"She promised she'd find a way to bring his Red Hooded Birdie home."

* * *

**A/N**: Hello, my lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/fav button!


	22. Secret Plans Revealed

"Raya?" Timothy Drake shouted as he blew into the main foyer of Wayne Manor a week later. He frowned when no immediate answer was forthcoming from either the woman in question, or his best friend. He knew both of them were home, he'd seen Raya's car parked next to a black bike he assumed was Jason's. _So where are they? _he found himself wondering as he crossed to the stairs_. Only one way to find out, _he decided. "Raya! Kon! Where are you?"

"Ain't Alfie taught ya the rule about no yelling in the Manor?" he heard a droll voice say from directly above him.

Tim felt every nerve in his body coil at hearing that smarmy tone. Anger and resentment shimmered to life and was quickly extinguished. _Raya asked us to try and work the problems out. _He took a deep breath and counted to ten before lifting his head in the direction that Jason's voice had come from. He found him watching him from the second-floor landing with a smirk twisting one side of his mouth and his eyes sparkling with an unholy amusement.

"I see you're still here," he said as he began slowly making his way up the stairs. "Surprisingly," he muttered beneath his breath.

He'd half expected to come over and find out that Jason had up and left in the middle of the night. _As he'd threatened he was going to do_. Why he had not gone, Tim didn't know, but he had a feeling it was one thing off both Raya's and Bruce's minds at that moment. _Even though Bruce hasn't even so much as hinted at being relieved to have Jason home, _he thought with a slight sigh. Not that that was any real surprise. All of them tended to lament over how much of a closed book the venerable Dark Knight could be. _Dick especially_, he realized with a start. Bruce's tendency to not reveal things until he felt it necessary for the information to be known was the largest point of contention between him and the former Robin.

Jason snorted. "I'm only here still 'cause it'd apparently upset Raya if'n I took my happy ass back ta where it belongs."

"That's because Raya sees that you belong here."

Tim flinched at the sting of bitterness he heard coating his every word. _Damn it,_ he thought._ I can't let him know that I'm extremely unsettled about his being here. _He knew by the way that that smirk edged towards a full, knowing grin that Jason had deduced he wasn't overly thrilled to see him.

"Disagree with her about that, don't ya, Timbo?"

Tim's already strained nerves frayed just a bit more at the seams. However, he swallowed his resentment before he ended up saying something that would just instigate a fight with him. _Don't provoke him, _he repeated over and over in his head. _Just keep telling yourself that he's been tossed into this same as you. It's one foot in front of the other for you both. _

"No." He shook his head once, slowly. "No, I don't actually disagree with her about you belonging here."

And he didn't disagree with her about Jason belonging there, he realized with a start. No, his disquiet wasn't over Jason being a part of the family. It was about what he could to his family while he was there.

"Right," he heard Jason scoff. "Ya sound positively thrilled ta see I'm still here."

"Raya is right in that you belong here." Tim kept his tone light, knew that if he spoke too aggressively or sarcastically that it would merely trigger Jason's volatile temper. _And push his already rapid fire mouth into overdrive._ "You are a member of this family, Jason. You are legally Bruce's son, same as Dick. You were once Robin, same as Dick. However," he said even as Jason opened his mouth to issue the blistering statement Tim saw was darkening his eyes to indigo. "That doesn't mean I am comfortable with you being here. You've hurt Bruce and Dick dozens of times. I can overlook that. They are grown men and quite capable of handling themselves in a fight against you. But you hurt Raya. And if you think that Dick, Kon or I are going to let you do that again? Well." There was just enough of a warning in his tone to convey he meant business. "You'll be in for a rude awakening."

"Then why ain't ya workin' ta convince Kit that it best I leave?" Jason ground out between his teeth. "Ya should be tellin' the daft woman ta kick my ass out. Why ain't ya?"

"Why?" Tim considered his answer as he rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. He decided the truth was the best response to give. "Well, one reason is because Raya never asks us for anything." Jason merely gave him a look that told Tim eloquently that he didn't believe him for one minute. "The night she brought you here she said that what happened on the roof of the GCPD wiped the slate between the two of you clean. It was her way of asking us to try and move on from everything that has happened, to put aside the differences and be a family. And while I might question my instincts, or Dick's and Bruce's, I won't hers. I know Raya. I know she would never ask us for this unless she's seen something that tells her that the fight is worth it."

Again Jason scoffed. "Right."

Tim struggled to keep his temper in check. "You'll find Raya has an uncanny ability to _see_ people." A disbelieving look greeted that statement. "She learned a long time ago how to read a face and see beneath a mask."

"Ya place way ta much trust in her, Timbo."

"And you not enough," Tim shot back. "You don't know her like I know her-like the rest of us know her."

"Right," Jason drawled lazily. "'Cause while she was off gettin' her Fenix wings polished, the Joker was..."

"Don't go there," Tim growled. "I swear you won't like what'll happen if you dare try and go there."

Triumph shone in the depths of Jason's eyes. "Hit a sore spot, did I?"

"No more than the one I'd hit if I pointed out how you are only trying to pick a fight with me 'cause you're scared and hurting."

Jason's lips peeled back in a wordless snarl.

"Watch it-" he growled.

"Or you'll what?" Tim snapped right back. "Attack me again?" He stepped up so that they were nearly eye level. "Go ahead. This fight will have a much different outcome than the last one did."

"That so?"

"That's so."

Alfred, exiting the kitchen at that moment with an armful of freshly laundered linens in his arms said nothing on his way past. The two men expected nothing less of the staid and proper butler. Nothing anyone said or did ever ruffled Alfred. The older man just tended to take everything in his own stride, and dealt with whatever volcanoes tended to erupt around him in his own quiet way. The times when he did lose his temper still managed to be cool and dignified affairs. Tim and Jason both watched as he slowly made his way up the stairs. He was at the top of the stairs with them when he finally spoke.

"I do not believe that standing upon the stairs and shouting threats at each other with our fists bunched is in any way what Miss Raya had in mind when she asked you to try and work at resolving your differences."

He then continued on his way, as regal and as calm as can be. Both Jason and Tim stood there feeling suitably chastised for how childish they were acting. Yet Tim noticed how neither of them made a move to apologize. _Alfred may have slapped us back into play but that doesn't mean either of us is willing to make the first move. _Jason finally broke the silence with a sigh.

"How he manages ta so politely bust balls is still beyond me," he said. "Lived here for close ta three years and never figured out how it was that he could so politely kick me in my backside."

"He's had years of practice."

A small smile graced Jason's lips. "I imagine patience was a real tall order for him when Bruce was a kid."

Tim snorted a laugh. "I think he still struggles to maintain his patience where Bruce is concerned."

"Bruce can try the patience of a saint."

Tim couldn't do more than nod at that. He'd been up against Bruce often enough to know just how bullheaded the man could be. _And how frustrating he can be when he is being bullheaded_, he added silently.

"Look," Jason said finally. "Let's cut to the chase here. We both know he's right. This ain't what Kit wants."

"No." Tim agreed with a sigh. "It's not what she wants. Or what she's asking us to do."

"Yeah, well," Jason muttered. "You and I both know that what the woman is asking us ta do is impossible."

Tim glanced at Jason; saw the brief flash of open and raw vulnerability that flittered across his face. "Is it?" he gently asked. "Is what she's asking us to do really that impossible? Or are we making it that way?"

Jason flashed him a lopsided grin that was just a bit too tight to be believable. Then he said in a slightly detached tone, "C'mon, kid, we both know we'll never be best buds. Or brothers."

It was, Tim knew, a defensive tactic. He'd seen Dick smile that way; speak that way thousands of times before. It was what he did when he didn't want people to know just how badly he was hurting inside.

"She's not asking us to be best friends... or brothers even," he said quietly. "What she's asking is that we put aside the anger and resentment and try to work out the problems. To move beyond the past and build a future."

"Why is she doing this?"

"She's doing it because it's what she does. Raya's a fixer. She fixes things. She fixes people."

Jason muttered something beneath his breath that sounded suspiciously like "as stubborn as the old man." Before he could form a reply, however, Jason grumbled, "She needs ta learn that some things ain't meant ta be fixed."

"Yeah, well," Tim said with a slow grin. "She doesn't agree with that particular bit of logic."

Jason just muttered something else before asking, his tone one of confused frustration, "Why is fixing us so damned important ta her?"

"Because family is the most important thing to Raya," Tim replied. "It's what she lives for. And," he added with a grimace, "what she'd die to protect. _We_ are her..."

"Kryptonite," Jason finished for him with a small smile. "Yeah, the Super- Conner," he instantly corrected, "has already told me that." He ran his hand over his face. "I know we're her brand of kryptonite. Something that the pasty-faced creep, the Scarefreak and her bastard of a father know it."

Tim's lips kicked up at the corners. "Finally talked with Kon, huh?"

"Yeah, we finally talked." He turned and leaned back against the balustrade. "And he told me a lotta of the same things, actually. Even told me that the damned woman promised Bruce she'd bring my ass home."

"She did promise Bruce that. And hate to tell you this, but..." he paused, grinned. "She sorta has lived up to that promise. She technically did bring you home."

"Yeah..." Jason said on a long suffering sigh. "Quit reminding me."

...

Upon receiving news of Berkeley's interference in his plans, Jonathan Crane became enraged, and in his fury swept the contents from off his desk. Papers, multicolored paper clips and an assortment of different style pens rained down upon the floor from several directions all at once. How dare Berkeley ignore his request! _Just who does the man think he is_? he seethed in silence. As quickly as his anger surged, it died. He really had nobody to blame for this mess but himself, he realized, his long fingers curling like talons around the arms of the chair in which he sat. He should have done a better job at not only configuring the list of possible variables that could potentially skew his data, but prevent him from obtaining his heart's desire as well.

"Does it really surprise you that Berkeley ignored your threat to tip off Batman if he didn't call off the hit on his daughter?" one of his research assistants asked him.

Crane didn't immediately respond. Did it surprise him that Berkeley had ignored his threat and ordered Deadshot to shoot his daughter? Not really. What _did _surprise him was that the man had ordered him to kill the Red Hood. That was most unexpected. It was not like the Red Hood had any real affiliation or importance to either Batman or his daughter. Which begged him to ask one question: why order him shot? He lifted his head and stared at his assistant, a pleasant smile pasted upon his face. "Matthew Berkeley defying me was only to be expected," he purred. "The man is quite fond of thinking that he is my boss." Then he made a low, speculative hum low in his throat. "And yet…"

He fell silent, contemplating everything he knew about the relationship between the Batman and the Red Hood. There had to be some reason behind why Berkeley had ordered the boy to be killed. _Who are you? _he wondered silently. _And why are you so important that Berkeley would order you to be killed?_

The answer came to him in a flash. _Why, yes_, he thought with a start. Yes, that was indeed possible. Why, it was more than possible. It was probable even. The boy would be about the right age, was about the right height and weight. His focused attacks upon the Joker and Batman both suggested a personal connection between them. _Yes_, he realized. _It all makes perfect sense now_. He should have seen it for himself, really. _How foolish of me_ _to not have figured this out myself_.

It wasn't a mistake that he'd make twice.

"Well, now this does present us with an interesting turn of events, now, doesn't it?" Crane's tone was like silk. It instantly raised the hairs on the back of his assistant's neck. "Yes, this does make things quite a bit more interesting."

"And exactly what interesting turn of events does this now present us?"

"Why, my good man," Crane simpered, his lips curving into a smile that made the man's blood curdle. "Berkeley ordered Deadshot to kill the Red Hood because he knew exactly who the Red Hood used to be."

"And who exactly did he used to be?"

"He was Batman's second little Robin."

"The one that the Joker killed a few years ago?"

"The very same," Crane chortled gleefully.

A frown marred the smoothness of his assistant's forehead. "Why would killing the Red Hood bother Batman? You'd think that he'd be thrilled to have one less bad guy to worry about dealing with."

"Ah," Crane said. "But therein is the brilliance of the much grander scheme that Berkeley has apparently had in mind all along."

"What do you mean?"

That smile spread, casting something dark and lubricious to flit across Crane's face. Slowly, the doctor unwound his lanky frame from its seated position, speaking as he did so. "Matthew Berkeley has long attempted to make Batman pay for having interfered in his attempts to rid himself of the only person remaining who can finger him as his wife's killer. And what better way is there to do that than by killing any one of his winged brats?"

He then turned to slowly walk towards his lab.

"You think Berkeley is going to try and _kill _Batman's associates?"

"No," Crane simpered over his shoulder at his skeptical sounding assistant. "I think Berkeley is going to try and kill the associate that means the most to Batman." His smile, his assistant saw, was serene. "He's going to kill his first Robin..." a pause was followed by, "Nightwing."

He then crossed over to the door that led out onto the observation deck. He'd barely reached for the handle when he heard a scream. Raw and guttural, it came from his newly designed _Fear Chamber_, its shrill effigy echoing throughout the lab. "It sounds as if Dr. Nichols has just administered my toxin to the first participant in our experiment," he cackled before slipping into the room.

* * *

**A/N**: Hello, my lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/fav button!


	23. Waylaid Plans

Tim saw that the library was awash in late afternoon sunlight the second he stepped in the room. For a moment, just one, he indulged himself in imagining how the crimson and gold spilling through the gleaming glass were like the feathery wings of the flame bird for which Raya had been named. He shrugged the thought off a moment later, silently laughing over how silly he was being. Nothing, in his opinion, was ever going to chase away the ghosts who clung to the Manor with vaporous claws. Nothing could silence the voices of those who had once lived and loved and laughed inside each and every one of the rooms the Manor had. Nothing could steal away the pain, rage and grief that hung over the Manor like a shroud.

The oppressiveness of the Manor was why he'd dropped by. They'd all decided, after the events at GCPD, that it was safer for Raya to be confined to the Manor. Not that Raya had seen it their way. No, the Fenix had flown into a spectacular rage at being ordered to remain inside the Manor. She'd claimed they were all being "more than just a bit paranoid" and that they simply "could not expect" her "to remain indoors." Not that Bruce had much cared about her protestations, of course.

Just because they were right didn't mean he wasn't sympathetic to Raya's plight. He knew she had to be going stir crazy at this point. A week spent inside with only Jason for company would be enough to drive _him_ nuts. He figured it was about time that someone sprung the Fenix from her Bat-cage. _And there's nobody more suited to rescuing Fenix than Robin, _he thought as he glanced about for the woman in question_. _He finally spotted Raya curled up in her favorite window bench, twirling a springy lock of hair around her finger as her eyes skimmed the page of the large textbook balanced across her bent knees with rapid-fire speed.

It would be hard for most of Gotham's high society sect to imagine that the normally polished and sophisticated Raya Kean could ever look like an average, everyday college student. They'd never seen her dressed in one of Kon's sweatshirts, a pair of what he recognized as _his_ socks and navy blue sweats with Gotham University running down one leg in white block lettering. A grin tugged at his lips. But this was the real Raya. The one who'd battled the Scarecrow to protect him at fourteen, who smashed her elbow in the Joker's face at twenty-one in order to keep Batman from breaking his golden rule, and drug the prodigal son home unconscious at twenty-three.

"Yanno," he said while leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb. "I have never understood why you study as hard as you do. We both know that you know that material cold."

Her eyes shifted from the book that she was reading over to him. Those green orbs glittered with the same amusement that had her lips twitching, curving.

"I don't know _everything_ that there is to know about Psychology, Tim."

"Right," he scoffed. "You've only been using Psychology out in the field for how many years now?"

"I put my own interpretation on the theories and criteria when I am out in the field," she said with a smirk. "On an exam I have to interpret the material as my professors' want. Besides," she teased him now. "I'm a Bat-Brat. I know full well that even when a Bat-Brat graduates from the School of Batman that they can never stop studying. Ya just never know when Batman is gonna spring one of his patented Bat-quizzes on ya. Something," she pointed out with a mischievous look, "that _you_ should keep in mind... _Robin_."

Tim snorted a laugh as he shoved away from the doorjamb. "I will have you know that I got a Bat-quiz last night."

_And failed it because I wasn't concentrating as I should have been, _he thought with a sigh_. _He kept that particular piece of information to himself, though. He'd already gotten a stern lecture from Bruce about letting his emotions cloud his thinking. He didn't need one from Raya, too.

"Aha!" she chortled with an unholy gleam in her eyes that had him grumbling beneath his breath. "Then you know that you must always be on your toes."

He did know it. As the Bat-Brat who'd been gifted with triple the amount of Robin homework and a thousand times the amount of Bat-quizzes. All, he silently lamented, thanks to his two predecessors driving Bruce batty. Tim knew full well to always be prepared for a quiz. However, it was not easy to keep his mind upon mundane things like how to track a member of the League of Assassins or defuse one of the Riddlers insane riddle traps without activating it when his best friend and the closest thing he had to a sister were both being threatened with death.

"So, what are you reading?" he asked as he crossed over towards her. He glanced down at the page she'd been browsing, felt his eyebrows shoot up. "Spectrum Disorders?" He glanced at her, his curiosity peaked. "Why are you reading about Spectrum Disorders? Haven't you dealt with enough of the crazies to know the signs and symptoms?"

"I know about Spectrum Disorders in theory and by generality," she said while closing the book. "But Conner and I have a friend who thinks her little brother might be showing signs of an Autistic Spectrum Disorder. And," she added while pulling out the pen she'd stuck into the dark, springy curls she'd contained in a messy bun, "while I know the general diagnostic criterion that are beneath the banner of ASD, I'm not overly familiar with the individual disorders."

"So," he said slowly. "You're boning up on the individual disorders in order to offer her what advice and support that you can."

"Smart, sweet, and handsome," she teased as she took off her glasses. "You are becoming quite the total package here, Tim. You're not careful you might just end up turning _my_ head."

He snorted at that. "Yeah, we both know that you only have eyes for Kon." He swung a chair out from one of the tables, turned it and straddled it. _How many hours have I spent at this table studying for a Robin exam_? he wondered briefly. They'd sure been more than he'd ever spent studying for a school exam. He shoved the thought aside and focused instead on lifting the quiet sorrow he saw haunting her eyes. "But let's say you didn't..." he flashed a lopsided grin. "What would be my chances then?"

"Well," she deliberated in a mock serious voice. "Seeing as how you _are_ still my little brother and all... none."

Tim heaved a long, drawn out sigh. "I have heard of being friend zoned," he grumbled slightly. "But little brother zoned? That's so not even right, Nix."

"Tough." She tossed a balled up piece of paper at him. He smacked it into the garbage can before giving her a cheeky grin. Her next statement wiped the smile off his face. "You got baby brother zoned long before you even knew what girls were."

"Excuse me?" he huffed. "And exactly _when_ did I get regulated to this baby brother squad of yours?"

"You got regulated to baby brother zone the night that Crane gassed you."

He harrumphed. "I was _six_."

"I know you were six." Her eyes glinted for a second with mischief. "You were especially adorable at six."

He snorted. "I'm still adorable."

"That's what _you_ think, little bird."

"Aww, c'mon now," he cajoled. "Yanno I'm adorable, Nix. Admit it."

Her lips twitched. "Yes…" a pause. "When you aren't being a moody ass you are incredibly adorable."

One dark brow lifted. "When am I moody?"

"You've been moody as hell for the last six weeks."

"You must have me confused with Bruce," he stated with a shake of his head, "or Dick."

"We both know that Bruce favors brooding down in the cave," the wretched woman pointed out. "And Dick tends to prefer doing his brooding from the thirteenth gargoyle inside Wayne Towers. As for you?" Her face softened in that way that said she was thinking about something mushy. "You tend to sulk in your bedroom while listening to Nickelback."

_Of course she knows that_, was his thought. _But then_, he realized, _there isn't much about me that this woman doesn't actually know. _

"C'mon," he couldn't resist kidding. "How about we _renegotiate_ the terms of our relationship? Add a few-" he paused, gave her a lopsided grin. "Perks and benefits?"

"Why don't you ask Conner what he thinks about us renegotiating the terms of our relationship," she told him primly. "See what he has to say about us adding some _perks_ and _benefits_ to our relationship."

"Yeah," he smirked. "Think I will pass on that, thanks."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she giggled. "Not that I blame you. I wouldn't want to tangle with Conner."

"This," he scoffed. "Coming from the woman who stopped Kon from going nuclear while he was under Lex Luthor's control last year?"

She snorted as she unwound her body from the window bench. "What was I supposed to do? Stand by and do nothing? That totally doesn't sound like me." She padded towards him and set a hand upon his shoulder. "Plus, I recall how a certain little birdie tweeted to me about how only the Fenix could pull Conner back from the abyss."

Tim reached up to set his hand atop hers. "I knew if there was anybody who would pull him back, it was you." He squeezed her fingers. "I kinda figured that if you were able to stop Bruce from killing the Joker that you could get through to Kon and stop him from blowing apart half the country."

"Keeping Bruce from killing the Joker was a cinch." She may have spoken lightly, but Tim heard the thin blade of anger that coated her every word. That night wasn't one he'd ever be able to forget. He pushed aside his own wave of dark memories as she said, "Stopping an amped up Kryptonian being controlled by a lunatic? That gave me a bit of a pause. But I counted upon Conner's feelings for me being stronger than Lex's control was." She bent a smile upon him. "Thankfully, I was right."

"Speaking of Kon..." Tim said slowly. "Where is he?"

"He's helping Dick move some things into our apartment." At Tim's quizzical look she added, "While Conner and I are staying here at the Manor, Dick is going to be staying in our apartment. That way if..."

"-someone tries to break in and kill you both in your beds, he can catch them," he finished for her with a nod. "Makes sense. Surprised Bruce didn't think about doing it sooner, actually."

"We didn't think of it until Dick asked if we'd mind him crashing there," she said as she set the textbook on the table behind him. "But it does make sense. Both," she quipped with a smile, "Dick staying there as well as having someone keeping an eye out in case someone tries to break in. Now." She fixed him with a stern look. "May I ask why you are up here with me and not down in the cave, training?"

"Well," Tim said absently as he reached over to pluck a piece of paper from off her elbow. "I was hoping to spring you from your Bat-cage and take you to dinner and an all-night black-and-white movie marathon at the downtown Cineplex."

"If only you weren't baby brother zoned," she sighed dramatically. "So snap ya up in a second, Tim."

"Again, that's so totally unfair," he whined. "C'mon, can't we negotiate some new terms here? Like, say, you have to wait for me after every patrol in a nurse's outfit. And," he added even as she snorted a laugh, "with vanilla ice cream and Skittles?"

"And what am I getting out of that particular deal?" She folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head to the side. "Kinda sounds to me like _you'd_ be getting the most out of this, Tim."

He waggled his eyebrows. "Put on the nurse's outfit and you'll see what you'll get."

She laughed as she skimmed her fingers through his hair. "You've gotten incorrigible, I swear."

"Is that a no to the nurse idea then?" He heaved a despondent sigh and tilted his head against her side. "You're killing me here, Nix. I mean, could ya try and be reasonable? I mean, the nurse outfit is a totally awesome idea that has a ton of perks to it."

"Perks?" One eyebrow arched. "And exactly what perks will I get out of this?"

"Well, it gives me something to look forward to when I come home all banged up from patrol. Plus I won't whine and complain so much while getting medical treatment." He shot her a playful leer. "And I'm pretty sure that Dick won't complain, either. So it's really win-win when you think about it."

"You both get to look forward to me fussing and fuming about you coming home all banged up," she retorted. "And to having me patch up your booboo's _while_ I'm bitching about them."

"Yes, but we'd have something worth looking at _while_ you are fussing and fuming about us being all banged up."

"Yes, I see your logic now," she said with a slight nod. "And I must admit that it would definitely work to improve injuries getting treated in a timelier manner."

"Does this mean you're open to the idea? If so," he chirped, "I've got dozens of other ideas that would greatly improve other areas of Bat-operations..."

She sent him an amused, affectionate look. "I'm sure you do." Then she leaned down to brush a kiss to his forehead. "Thank you, Tim," she said sincerely. "For everything."

"Hey," he said. "What are little brothers for?"

"Well," she replied with an impish grin. "They apparently help spring their caged sisters from their Bat-prison and take them out to dinner and an all-night movie marathon."

"So this means you'll go with me?" When she nodded, he let out a loud "yes!" He heard paper rattling as he clenched his fist and dimly recalled plucking a piece of paper off her sleeve. He glanced at it now; frowned. It was a sonogram picture. That was taken two weeks ago according to the timestamp in the right hand corner. A niggling suspicion started creeping through Tim. The implications from the picture were staggering; mind-blowing. He banked his doubt, however, told himself over and over that there was no way they'd keep something like this a secret.

_They'd tell us if they were having a baby_. Yet even as he thought it, there was a tiny voice in the back of his head whispering to him about how "they would."

"What's this?" he asked, holding the picture up for her inspection. He knew when her face went completely blank what the answer was.

"It's a sonogram picture."

"I can see that it's a sonogram picture," he said dryly. "Think I'm asking who it belongs too."

She visibly wavered. Tim half expected her to tell him to mind his business when she finally spoke.

"Me," she admitted with a tiny sigh. "It belongs to me, Tim."

Amidst the sea of emotions that were swamping him, Tim rose. He reached out and took hold of her wrist, tugged her close. And held right. "Why didn't you two say anything?"

Her arms crept around his waist, cinched tight. "Conner and I wanted to tell everyone about the baby." She tucked her head beneath his chin. "It just didn't seem like the right time."

"Right time to tell everyone what?" they heard a familiar voice rumble behind them.

They both glanced over at the figure standing in the doorway. Bruce didn't look like the suave and sophisticated playboy who adorned the pages of the society pages. Not in a ratty pair of gray sweats and a rumpled white t-shirt, his dark hair mussed and his face wreathed with a nights worth of whiskers. What he looked was… _human_. Raya tended to like him best at these times. His eyes and voice were still soft from sleep, and his mood more relaxed because the mask he habitually wore, was down. He tended to be more approachable during this time, more prone to bouts of humor and displays of affection. He was less likely to brood or scold or be fixated upon whatever case he was currently working. He was also more apt to allow himself to be teased. Her lips kicked up at the corners.

"Ya really could use a shave, Bruce." Unholy deviltry sang in her voice; swirled upon her face. "And a shower wouldn't hurt ya none neither."

"Good morning to you too, imp." Absently, though, Bruce rubbed a hand over his face, felt the stubble and gave her a look that said she probably had a point, but not to push it. Raya merely smiled innocently. Bruce just shook his head. "And it wasn't the right time to tell everyone what?" he questioned again as he took the cup of coffee Alfred materialized out of thin air holding.

"Nothing," Raya said dismissively. "It's not important."

Bruce arched one eyebrow. "It sounded like it was rather important."

Raya chose to change the subject by saying, "You slept rather late today..." she said. "Even for you."

Bruce grunted a noncommittal reply. He wasn't about to reveal to her that he was working even longer hours than he did normally. She'd just stress and worry and fuss. He did, however, repeat his earlier question, more firmly this time. "It's not the right time to tell everyone what, Raya?"

She grumbled something beneath her breath he chose to ignore and said, "It's noth..."

"Raya."

There was a thin note of warning inside his voice to say he'd reached the limits on his patience. She huffed, "obnoxious man," beneath her breath before looking Bruce square in the eye and saying, "I'm having a baby."

"I see."

Whatever she might have expected him to say, _that_ wasn't it. "That's it?" she groused. "That's all you have to say? _I see_?"

Bruce didn't smile, but there was a slight softening to his face that told her he was not displeased by the news. "Would you prefer I say that you won't be going out to dinner and that all-night movie marathon with Tim?"

"Bruce..." They objected in unison.

"This is so not fair," Raya whined.

"I don't care," was his response. "Until Deadshot and anybody else that your father might have hired has been stopped, _you_," he said to the petite female glaring daggers at him, "will remain safely at home. And you," he said to his squirming protégé, "can stay to keep her company. I'd also advise," he stated firmly, "that you use the time to go over that quiz you failed last night."

"Fine," they both grumbled.

Bruce turned away in order to hide his amusement. "Now if you'll excuse me," he said before exchanging a silent look with Alfred. "I have a certain someone in red and blue spandex that I need to go call."

* * *

**A/N**: Hello, my lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/fav button!


	24. Countdown

James Gordon parked his unmarked squad car near the row of EMS vehicles, coroners van and squad cars at a quarter after seven that evening. A homicide in Gotham was not normally treated to this much police fanfare. Given the recent string of bodies which had been left in similar places all across Gotham the last few days, though, it was warranting more police attention than usual. It was clear that each division of the GCPD had opted to band together in order to bring the killer, _or killers_, Gordon internally corrected, to justice. In this city, the mantra had long ago become: _Work together_ or _die_.

Ignoring the frantic questions that were being shouted at him by the vultures standing in a shivering huddle on the sidewalk, he entered the alley behind Gotham's Merchant Bank in order to meet with the costumed hero who'd notified him twenty minutes ago about there being another body to add to an already long list. Beneath the bright illumination of the spotlights that the CSU had setup in order to work the scene and the searchlights from the hovering police and news helicopters, the small alley was almost brighter than the midday sun. The brightness did not bother Gordon any. In fact, being embraced within the light's glow was almost a comfort after having spent the last hour in one of the darkest areas of the city.

However, he knew the figure lurking at the edge of the crime scene preferred the stillness and quiet of the shadows over the warmth of the light. And because Batman did prefer the darkness, Gordon ordered the helicopters to "get the hell back." The alley instantly was immersed in a darkness that was so absolute that the sky itself almost paled in comparison. That didn't prevent Gordon from seeing Batman weave his way through the shadows to join him by the back entrance.

"Long night, Jim?"

Gordon grunted. "Got assassins lurking around the city, Joker sending threatening letters to the mayor, Penguin starting an all-out turf war with Black Mask and Two-Face, body dumped here in an alley and our girl deciding to top it all off by announcing she's having a baby. Yeah," he said on one long, weary breath. "It's been a helluva night."

Both men descended into a companionable silence as they watched the forensics team at work. Each tried to remember exactly what number that this body marked. There had been so many bodies in the course of their storied careers. It was Gordon who spoke a good ten minutes later.

"You realize that this is the fourth body that we've found dumped in an alley this week." He didn't so much as glance into the swirl of darkness that Batman inhabited. There was no need. He could tell by the slight ruffling of the cape that Batman had turned towards him. "The places where he's having the bodies left is most definitely significant. I just haven't figured out what the meaning is." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Beyond each place being one where you have fought to bring one of our more violent predators down, it makes no sense."

"With someone like the Scarecrow, you don't always see the pattern until you start fitting them together."

"Well, we know Scarecrow has definitely started performing his damned experiments again. The last three victims all tested positive for the basic markers of the hallucinogenic compound the bastard uses in that damn gas of his." Gordon pushed his glasses up. "I'm going to assume that that is exactly what we will find in his tox screen as well."

"Most likely," was the grim reply. "I will run the samples I gathered before calling you and compare them to the neural samples Raya took from the other victims. But..." Gordon had come to hate the word _but_. It never boded well in his experience. Least of all when any of Gotham's super criminals could be the cause of the _but_. "Given how all of the victims have showed the same type of central nervous system shutdown Raya found in the victims from Blüdhaven, Central, Starling and Metropolis, I am going to say it is safe to assume that this victim will show the same."

"What I don't understand is why the fingers of the victims have been removed."

Like Gordon, Batman knew that all of the victims had had their fingertips removed pre-mortem. Each amputation had been performed with a keen level of precision that suggested the perpetrator knew exactly how to remove the tips of his (or her) victims' fingers with the least amount of effort required. Just who the butcher was, though, remained a mystery. And that fact bothered Gordon almost as much as he knew that it did the figure beside him. It was a variance in the Scarecrow's _modus operandi. _It was a deviation that suggested the once exalted Doctor had taken up with a partner.

And that was bad news no matter how anybody tried looking at it.

"He could be removing the victims' fingertips for any number of reasons," Batman mused in a soft rumble.

"Give me one that won't give me nightmares for the next month."

Batman didn't smile, but Gordon saw a slight softening around the corners of his mouth.

"I suspect that the main reason for why they are removing the fingertips is because the victims managed to somehow get a piece of their attackers."

"You don't think they removed the fingertips to keep as some sort of souvenir?"

He shook his head. "No," he said. "There's nothing in the psychological profile we've managed to work up about this assailant that suggests they are the sort who would chose to take souvenirs." He shifted, looking to where the forensic and "I suspect they are removing the fingertips in order to cover their tracks, as well as their association with Crane."

_Heaven help us if all the super villains of this city decide to work together,_ Gordon thought with a sigh. He glanced over, saw that Batman was standing in his shadow. "About how long after the Scarecrow broke out of Arkham did the first murder occur again?"

"Two weeks according to the timeline I've put together."

"And how many murders are you figuring that there have been at this point?"

"Thirteen."

Gordon breathed out a soft curse. _Twenty people dead._ He hadn't believed anybody _but_ the Joker to be capable of racking up that kind of a body count. "What's the endgame here?" he asked Batman bluntly. "What is it that Crane is trying to accomplish?"

"Are you certain you want me to answer that question, Jim?" Batman's voice had dropped an octave. Hearing it reminded the detective of that aged whiskey he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. "You may not want to hear the answer."

Gordon was only feeling moderately grim at that moment. That, he realized was going to change once Batman revealed his speculations. James Gordon had never shied away from the truth, no matter how bad it was. Nor had he ever shirked doing his duty. He'd spent his entire career making hard decisions, fighting the dirty fight, and making sure that Gotham's filth didn't stink up the city. He'd had to do plenty of things that he wasn't always proud of. He'd learned years ago that if he hadn't made those decisions that there would have been lots of people hurt. He made split second decisions all the time; it was the nature of his duty to make decisions based upon the heat of a moment. That was why the veteran detective straightened, and turned, facing Batman directly. There was a truth to be told and a decision to be made.

"You're about to tell me something I am not going to want to hear, aren't you?"

"There's a good chance of that, yes."

"Good thing I took my blood pressure medicine before I got here then." Gordon made a face that was neither a grimace nor a smile. "Alright, hit me with your best shot."

"Robin has deduced that every victim is connected to the Fenix."

Using Raya's codename, Gordon knew, was a way of not only protecting _her_ real identity, but Batman's as well. Gordon knew it was a long supposed belief that he knew who the man beneath the infamous cape and cowl was, but simply wasn't sharing the secret with anybody. It was a game he and the man beside him had been playing for years. Gordon did know who the man beneath that fearsome mask was. Just as he knew the man standing beside him was aware he knew of his identity, and didn't care about the fact that he knew. In the end, the difference between knowing and not knowing was wrapped up in the importance of the fact. For Gordon, Batman was a necessity his city needed in order for it to survive the onslaught of criminals like the Joker, Penguin, Two-Face, and Black Mask. If pretending to be unaware of Batman's identity was what was required of him to protect his city? Well, he'd feign ignorance until the day he died.

"Every victim is connected to the Fenix?" Batman didn't need to see the whole of Jim's face to know it could have been carved from stone. "You're sure?" He saw that dark head incline on a nod. "Why?" His brow puckered. "What purpose does going after the Fenix serve?"

Gordon had a sneaky suspicion that he already knew the answer to that. It all had to do with a formula called _Inceptive_. It was the driving force behind everything the son of a bitch had done to their girl. His and Raya's feud started the night Crane tried to turn Gotham into a _City of Fear. _Gordon would never forget that night_. _The amount of fear that had filled the city had been beyond catastrophic. The people who had been lucky enough to not be infected by the toxic mist the Scarecrow unleashed had been forced to stand by and watch as friends, family and strangers alike wallowed inside a waking nightmare. Many of the victims had succumbed to the effects, their bodies destroyed by their physical response to the chemical compounds in that toxic mist. Dozens more, however, were locked up in Arkham, driven mad by their fears.

He suspected that revisiting that night and obtaining a different outcome was largely what was driving the Scarecrow. Being bested by a fourteen-year-old girl had been a hard pill for a man as proud as Crane to swallow. The doctor had sworn he'd have his vengeance upon her. _And he's spent the last ten years working to accomplish that vow_. That wasn't what was troubling him the most, though. Hearing how Raya was the focal point of the Scarecrow's attacks was not overly surprising. No, the thing most disturbing him was Crane's partner. Not knowing who they were, what they wanted, or why they were working with Crane was causing his heart to burn. Granted, the two had at least one mutual agenda binding them together: getting their hands upon the formula for _Inceptive_. How each intended for the toxin to be used was where the two agendas differed.

For Dr. Jonathan Crane it was about his research. It was _always_ about his research. Getting a hold of _Inceptive_, a powerful behavioral agent that allowed for the direct implantation of suggestions into the mind, was something the once exalted doctor had been attempting to get his hands on long before he'd been removed from his position as a tenured professor at Gotham University. In order to accomplish his goal he needed Raya, who had been working remotely from the safety of the Batcave for the past few months in order to synthesize a batch of _Inceptive_ so they could build an antidote for it.

That Crane was using people who either had a criminal past or who were addicts as his test subjects was little more than a ruse that the doctor intended to use to draw out Raya. That the doctor knew that she would be unable to stand by as innocent lives were being snuffed out just showcased the brilliant mind Crane did possess. Gordon suspected there was a sinister reason behind Crane's subject selection. Threatening Raya would ultimately draw out her best friend, adoptive brother or boyfriend. Hurting any of those men was a sure fire way to push his girl into making a mistake that Crane could use to trap her.

_And it's not going to happen_, he thought, a slow fire beginning to burn deep in his soul. He'd stop the son of a bitch first. Same as he'd stop Berkeley. _Nobody hurts my girl._

_Nobody. _

"Crane stands the greatest chance of luring Raya out into the open by selecting targets who are in some form or fashion connected to her..." Gordon sighed. "But if he gets his hands upon any of your boys or that Kent kid?" Gordon paused just long enough to take a breath. "He'll have our girl at his mercy."

"I know," Batman said on a long breath. "That's why I have enlisted Superman's aide. He will keep an eye on Raya while we work to stop whatever it is Scarecrow, his partner and her father have planned."

Gordon grunted his approval. "She's on permanent leave as of this moment," he gritted. "I am having all her cases reassigned."

"She's not going to be pleased by being put on leave by the both of us."

"Well, she will have to deal with it," he said in a voice that slashed the encroaching shadows in half. "She doesn't need the stress. Especially since our victim there?" He nodded towards where the coroner was loading a body into his van. "He's a junkie by the name of Devon Silkes."

Batman straightened. "How do you know who he is?"

He reached up and took off his glasses, took a minute to fish around in his pockets for a rag to wipe the lenses before saying, "Raya was working with a kid in her clinical program who had a scar over his left eye about six months ago. Same as our vic here has."

"So," Batman said slowly. "This man is connected to her personally..."

"Yes, he is." Gordon's voice was cold as ice. "And that Crane has selected a young kid this time as his test subject is definitely going to draw our girl into the open. You know how she gets whenever kids are the victims."

"She won't get anywhere near him," Batman gritted. "I promise you that, Jim."

A police chopper swept by, lighting up the alley. Gordon glanced up for a moment, waited for the chopper to pass before he again spoke. But when he turned back he found that the man was gone; had disappeared as silently as a ghost in fact. Gordon grunted and then shook his head, a wry grin playing about his lips. "Been a while since he's done that."

...

Harvey Bullock knew he was in for a long night when he was sitting at his desk, surfing through dozens of reports that had been dumped in his inbox while he'd been checking out a homicide in a parking garage in midtown. Detective Ethan Tate, newly promoted and still getting adjusted to his new role, stopped by his desk.

"Hey, there's something outside I think you need to see."

Bullock followed Tate downstairs through a throng of officers to the front steps of the GCPD. There, bound to a lamppost, was Floyd Lawton, his good eye blazing with fury. His optical eye was missing. Pinned to his chest was a note written on stationery Bullock knew had come from the sprockets desk:

_The Night birdie is at Third at the corner of Industrial._

_The abomination is on University at the corner of Tenth and Main._

_Which one will the Fenix choose to save?_

_Mictlantecuhtli says she can only rescue one._

It wasn't like the veteran detective had to work at guessing who the Night birdie or the abomination was. Fury sparked, ignited and had his blood pumping. _Mess with the sprite? Mess with the GCPD._ He turned to the group gathered around him.

"Call Gordon!" he barked. "Tell him to get over to Third and Industrial Way. Tate," he snapped at the man standing beside him. "You, Hutchins and Renaldo are with me. And someone," he snapped as he started making his way towards the parking garage, "get this animal into a cage!"

"Yes, sir," echoed around him as officers leapt into action.

* * *

**A/N**: Hello, my lovelies! Hope the week has been good to you!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/fav button!


	25. End Game

Somebody let it slip. One of the officers, a well-meaning passerby, a lawyer on their way to meet with a detained client- somebody who overheard what was going on and decided to either be helpful or simply wanted to stir the pot because it'd be funny. Either way, someone phoned the local news station and told them that one of their criminals was holding Nightwing and Superboy hostage somewhere in the city and that the Fenix was being told she could only save one of them. Within a half hour the news was being played on all the local broadcasts. Alfred was washing dishes in the kitchen with the Gotham City Radio news on in the background when he heard about Dick.

"Master Richard," he whispered. "Master Conner."

The glass in his hand toppled back into the soapy water, forgotten as shock and fear crashed over the butler in waves. His knees threatened to buckle and his hands started shaking. Then he heard an anguished cry echo from upstairs and realized that Miss Raya had just heard the news. Pride as well as his dozens of years in service stiffened his spine. He had a job to still do, children that were still his to watch over and protect.

_You save those boys, Master Bruce_, he told his absent employer as he quickly exited the room. _You save them and you bring them home_.

...

The area surrounding the old GCPD building was all but deserted, most of the businesses having been shut down a long time ago. Even the former police headquarters was used for nothing more than storage now. James Gordon had no trouble whatsoever in navigating his unmarked car down the narrow cobblestone streets. He wasn't alone in this midtown race, either. He was in the lead of a half-dozen patrol cars, one riot vehicle, five unmarked cars and the bomb squad van. Sirens were screaming like banshees and the swirling lights cast long, demonic shadows as they swept past darkened apartment complexes and businesses.

"Think we're gonna get there in time, Commissioner?" Detective Robert Stephenson grunted from the passenger seat. "We don't have any idea about how long the bombs have been set for. Or what types of bombs they might even be."

"We'll get there," Gordon stated in that cop-daddy-means-business tone of voice his girls frequently teased him about. "Hold on!"

He screamed around a corner, hitting the on-ramp of the highway before stomping down on the gas pedal. He saw cars on fire up ahead, blocking both sides of traffic. Terrified citizens were racing for what little cover could be had as six masked men in black suits opened fire with the machine guns they held in their gloved hands. Gordon's jaw clenched and he was half tempted to speed up and push his way through their little blockade. Reality set in, though, and he forced himself to slam on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt as bullets pinged off the bumper and front grille, slammed into the tires, blasted off the side mirrors and splintered the front glass.

"Shit!" Stephenson snapped as he ducked down in his seat. "Who the hell do these goons belong too?"

"My guess?" Gordon growled as he pushed open the driver's door. "Matthew Berkeley."

"Ain't that your nieces father?" Stephenson asked as he leaned out the window, returning fire. One of the goons screamed as a bullet pierced his upper thigh. "Take that, you asshole," he muttered. Then he glanced over at his boss. "Why would Berkeley have his goons blocking us from getting to the Industrial District?"

"It's to keep us from saving either Nightwing or Superboy."

Stephenson fired off another two shots. "Why's he care about whether or not we rescue two superheroes?"

"It's a trap meant to lure the Fenix out so the female assassin he hired can kill her."

_And it won't happen_, he thought, fingers clenching around the handle of his service revolver so tightly he heard his finger joints cracking. _Superman will keep her butt home, where it belongs_.

"Jim, Stephenson," they heard Bullock barking as he pulled up. "Come on! Me and Tate'll cover youse!"

Both men quickly got behind the other vehicle for protection. They reloaded their guns ready for whatever it was that the thugs had in store for them. Anarchy and violence were the city's calling card. Nothing that any of Gotham's rogues did at this point was much of a shock to the four detectives. They were soon joined by ten fully rigged riot officers, a dozen uniforms, and a few off-duty cops who'd heard about what was going on and came to help. All of them wore the same grim, set expressions. It was just another night in Gotham. Just another night and one more round of chaos.

"I want everyone to stay close," Gordon snapped out in a cool, crisp voice. "Mason, take a handful of men and try to get on the other side of these goons. Zimmer, you and Lynch go right. I want the rest of you on me. Now," he said. "I don't have to tell you that nobody needs to be a hero. You know that. What I will tell you is that we need to stop these men before they can hurt anybody. However." He was like a General leading his troops into battle now. Every word energized them; inspired them to do whatever it took to bring these men down. "We need to stop these men because they are trying to prevent us from rescuing two good men who've been kidnapped by a very dangerous woman. Getting to those men is essential. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," they all said as one.

...

Organizing her family and tasking them with what they needed to do was a job that Raya was more than comfortable with performing. It was a return to the way things were when Bruce initially agreed to train her. Most people didn't know that Batman had never intended for the Fenix to be one of his field operatives. She'd been fine with working remotely from the Batcave. So she became mission control. She became the information agent that Batman and Robin relied on when they were out in the field. She was who found them their ways in, cracked the more difficult locks and codes, opened the doors and performed the research that they couldn't.

However, it was _Alfred_ who'd told her that she needed to be more than an informational specialist. He'd told her that she also needed to know her team's strengths, how they tended to work with the other on particular cases and missions, and about what special talents each possessed in order to craft the best tactical response she could for whatever situation had arisen. It was Alfred who schooled her in the workings of chemistry, showed her how to apply the laws and theories of psychology, sociology, anthropology and criminology and taught her how to employ all types of research in order to support her team to the best of her ability.

It was also Alfred who'd trained her how to respond in a crisis. She grimaced as she recalled her first night as the teams command controller. Two-Face had taken a group of people hostage inside the Solomon Wayne Courthouse. Batman and Robin had been called in to help with rousting the former District Attorney before he could deliver the judgment he was threatening. Everything had been going well. They'd infiltrated the courthouse, taken down a handful of his goons and we're just preparing to break into the courtroom itself in order to stop Dent. Then communications broke down and she'd heard nothing from either superhero for well over four hours. She'd wanted to leave the cave and rush in to help, but Alfred, in his usual unruffled manner, merely set a hand upon her shoulder and told her "calm heads always prevail in a crisis."

She'd translated that as meaning "only fools rush in." So she'd sat in her chair and waited, not patiently, mind, for either hero to make contact. It was one of the hardest lessons she'd ever had to learn. Wanting to protect her family, to keep them safe, was her single greatest flaw. She still tended to foolishly rush into situations without properly thinking them through. But she couldn't rush in this time. She couldn't risk her life in order to attempt rescuing either man. So she did what Alfred had taught her: she pulled herself together, told herself she could fall apart later when both men were home safe.

Once the panic and fear receded came logic, and a realization that the one person in all of Gotham who was fast enough to reach Conner and Dick was the very man who'd been ordered to babysit her. However, she couldn't deny that there wasn't a part of her, a deep and dark part that wanted to tear out of the cave and rush to the rescue. Jason must have sensed her thoughts because his arm tightened reflexively around her waist before he spoke.

"You ain't going out there, Kit."

"No," she agreed with a slight nod. "No, I'm not going out there, Jason. I would never risk the baby." She glanced at him. "No matter how badly I might want to do just that, I wouldn't. I know that I can't."

"Yeah, well," he muttered. "Glad to know that ya recognize ya can't go out there. Not while you're carryin' the little alien."

"I also know that I wouldn't make it to either Conner or Dick in time," she drawled. "However," her gaze flicked over to the man standing beside her. "Superman can."

Blue eyes that were so like Conner's met hers. "Exactly where is it that I am going, brat?" Clark asked with a bemused smile. "And how are we going to explain why _I _left the cave after being expressly ordered to remain in it to ensure that _you _stay in it?"

"Bruce may have left _you _in charge of keeping me home," she stated with a smile, "but he left _me _in charge of protecting the members of this family. That means that I get to put whatever players I need to put into play in order to accomplish my task. And well," she said with a mischievous glint to her eyes that Clark knew spelled trouble. "I need Superman. So I'm tasking him with going out into the field."

"You are just amused by the fact that you get to order Superman out into the field," Tim called from the lower grotto. "Admit it, Nix."

Clark lifted a hand to rest it gently on her shoulder. "Which one are you sending me after, little General?"

Jason coughed to cover a laugh and earned a black look from Raya before she turned to tap a few keys on the keyboard. "Conner's at Third at the corner of Industrial," she said in a cool, crisp voice. "Uncle Jim was on his way there but my father has his men keeping him bogged down on the bridge. So I need you to go and get Conner out of that building."

Surprise flickered upon his face. "You think Dick and Conner are at the opposite place from where the note said they'd be?" he questioned with a lifted brow. "Why?"

"Because," she sighed on one long breath, "my grandfather's laboratory and offices are on University at the corner of Tenth and Main."

Understanding dawned; rocked the older hero to the core of his being. _If Dick is at her grandfather's laboratory_… he mused with a frown. _Then_… "Why did they pick Third at the corner of Industrial?"

"That is the alleyway where the Joker shot Tim a few years ago. And," she said as she turned to look at the man who'd gone still as a statue beside her. "Where Jason tried to boost the tires off the Batmobile."

Clark was gone before she'd even finished that part of her sentence.

...

Conner had stayed at the apartment much later than he'd actually intended. It'd been fun hanging out with Dick, though, and he'd enjoyed being able to forget for just a little while that he and Raya had huge bull's-eyes on their backs. He'd just been a guy hanging out with one of his best buds and reveling in the fact that he was gonna be a father. On his way out of the apartment a few hours later, a woman whom he recognized as living on one of the bottom floors asked him if he'd mind helping carry a heavy box down to the curb for pickup. He'd happily carted the box down to the street for her and-

Nothing.

Then he felt as if he was floating on a cloud. He tried to open his eyes but found he couldn't make them obey his command. Then he heard someone calling him an "abomination." Hate and disgust rippled in every word the woman had said. Conner tried to attenuate to that thickly accented voice, tried to place where he had that voice before and the face to which it belonged. "You should never have been created. What was Mictlantecuhtli thinking in allowing something like you to be created?"

Conner struggled against the heavy drowsiness trying to suck him in. He suspected he'd been dosed somehow with kryptonite. It was the only explanation for his lack of strength and overall lethargy. He levered open his eyelids enough to make out a blurry shape coming towards him. He heard the whisper of a knife leaving a sheath, felt something jab him in the chest...

And again nothing.

When he came to a short while later, his head was throbbing and he was sick to his stomach and... where the hell was he? He managed to crack open his eyelids enough to see he was in some sort of room. Further inspection revealed he was lying on the floor. He heard the _clink_ of chains and realized he couldn't lift his arms, nor do more than wriggle his big toe. Because he was bound? Yes. He was lying on the cold, hard ground of an abandoned warehouse, in the dark, weakened from exposure to kryptonite, bleeding from the knife that his kidnapper had stuck in his chest and chained to something that was going _beep, beep, beep_.

"Hello?" he heard someone say in a voice that sounded thin and reedy. "Is somebody there?"

"Hey, can you hear me?" He tried to yell, but his voice was little more than a hoarse murmur.

* * *

**A/N**: Hello, my lovelies… and goodbye! This and the chapter I will post after this one are the finale in this bit of my ongoing saga. I hope that you have enjoyed the ride as much as I have! Thank you to everybody who has read and reviewed this story. I love you all!

Please, if you like this story, click the follow/fav button!


	26. Finale

His voice was loud enough that Dick was able to hear him. He'd been awake for some time and could see, through the murky shadows that were engulfing him in their arms that he was sitting in a metal folding chair in a basement. Conner's voice was coming from a speakerphone attached to a black device set on the floor.

"Conner? Conner, are you okay?"

"Dick? Dick, is that you?"

"Yeah," he sighed, "it's me."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in a basement. You?"

"An abandoned warehouse it looks like."

"So," Conner managed to kid. "The plan is kill Nightwing and Superboy, huh?"

"Looks like it." Dick tested the restraints on his hands. They were pretty tight. Nothing he couldn't handle, though. "Kinda seems like we managed to fall right into Berkeley's trap."

"Yeah," Dick heard Conner's breath rattle as he chuckled and was instantly alarmed. "We tend to do that a lot."

"Kon?" He couldn't keep the worry out of his voice. "Kon, what's wrong?"

"She stabbed me, Dick. The female assassin..." Conner broke off, coughed. "It's kryptonite. The blade she used was made out of kryptonite."

Fear crashed over Dick in waves. _Kryptonite_. It was the only known mineral capable of incapacitating or killing men like Clark and Conner Kent. He struggled against the bindings holding him to the chair. He had to get free. He had to get help. The ropes refused to budge. He began to realize, for the first time, just how well thought out Berkeley's plan had been. To hurt Raya and Bruce both he'd gone after the two people they cared the most for. _And they've enacted a plan that is sure to take out one of us_, he thought as he angled his head to look back at the box sitting on the floor behind him. He knew what the box was. As soon as he'd awakened, Dick had strained his eyes and ears to take in everything around him. As such he knew he was strapped to some sort of crude device that was counting down; its digital clock face was showing eight minutes. Eight minutes to what? It was never something good.

It was currently reading 7:50.

Not much time to form an escape plan.

"Dick?"

"Listen, Conner," he told the man on the other end of the speakers. "If there's one thing we can count on, it's Raya and her compulsory nature. She'll come..."

"She's not coming, Dick," he heard Conner say. "Not this time."

Dick's eyebrows shot up at hearing that. "What?" he rasped. "Why not? Damn it, Co..."

"She's pregnant, Dick," he heard the half-kryptonian hero say in barely a whisper. "She's having a baby."

_Pregnant. She's pregnant_. Raya's_ pregnant._ Over and over it played through Dick's mind. Emotions flooded him, filled him. Pain, shock, elation, fear, anger, all so intense, all so immediate, he was dizzy from them. It was just one emotion slamming one after another into him, through him, over him. All of them being crippled by the red numbers on the clock slowly counting down to zero.

_6:45_

_6:44_

_6:43_

"Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell her that I'm sorry I won't be there for her and the baby."

He shook his head. "No, Con-"

"Tell her I love her. That I have always loved her." A pause. "That I will always love her."

"No, Conner. We're getting out of here..."

But all he heard was a faint, "Take care of her."

...

Batman encountered no traffic as he made his way onto Tenth and Main at University. He braked in front of a large building and was out of the car before the engine even had a chance to shut off. He busted through the glass door and raced through the dark complex, using the optics in his cowl to search for a heat signature. The optics revealed that there was a body in a somewhere below where he was standing. There was a glimmer of light coming from a flight of steps that led down into the basement. Batman ran, taking the stairs in leaps and bounds. He shot through a door and then jumped more stairs. The only sound he heard was the ticking of a clock.

_Time_.

Everything, Batman realized, came down to time. Second, minute, or hour. All three were entities of the same linear property, and all of them came with different units used to measure their particular property. Knowing if you had seconds, minutes or hours could make all the difference in the world between a plan being a success, or a failure. Here, one second, barely the span of an indrawn breath, was going to make all the difference between his son or a man he cared for like a son living or dying.

_Seconds_.

That's all he had, a mere few seconds in which to cover the great distance between him and whoever it was being held captive. He burst through a door and slid to a stop. He half expected to find Conner, to free him and get him to race to the warehouse where Dick was being held captive. It wasn't Conner he found, though. It was _Dick_. Time ground to a halt as he stared into those electric eyes.

_Helplessness._

That was what time made a father feel when one of their children was in the fight of their life_. _He was already halfway across the room when the red numbers on the clock began ticking slowly towards zero...

_5_

_4_

_3_

* * *

Superman had just arced around the corner onto Industrial when an explosion shattered the windows of an old abandoned warehouse...

* * *

Bullock was running toward the front of a warehouse that was belching great big plumes of black smoke and red fire from every window and vent opening. Detective Tate brought him down with a tackle, and several other officers helped restrain him.

"There's nothing you can do," Tate gasped. "The building is gone."

"No!" Bullock yowled. "We gotta save him! The sprite is counting on us ta save him!"

"There's nothing you can do, Bullock," Tate repeated as the building groaned. "The building is gone. _He's _gone."

...

Gordon and his officers stood watching the firemen work to contain the blaze of what had once been an abandoned warehouse. They weren't trying to save the building-what would have been the point to save a building set to meet the wrecking ball sometime this year? But they did work at saving the adjacent buildings. Gordon saw hundreds of pieces of paper blowing across the ground. He picked one up and, in the glow caused by the fire, saw it was a tarot card. _The Death Card_. He showed the card to Bullock.

"Last laugh's gonna be on that asshole, Berkeley," Bullock growled. "See how funny he finds when we arrest his ass."

Still gazing at the fire, Gordon asked, "Was Superboy or Nightwing in there?"

"We won't know until the fire chief gets in there to wade through the mess..."

"When does Johnson think he will be able to get in there?"

Bullock scratched at the back of his neck. "Says it could be tomorrow afternoon before he will be able ta get in there. But even money is on that someone detonated the bomb remotely. Anders says the blast was strong enough that it blew out the windows of every building in a two mile radius."

"They weren't in there," Gordon said darkly. "They got out of the building before the bomb blew."

"How can you be sure they got out? Hell, Jim, we don't actually know which one mighta been in there."

Gordon turned his back on Bullock and stood unmoving as a sea of emotions washed over him. Then he slowly trudged towards his car.

"Jim?" Bullock called softly. "How do you know that they were able to get out before the bomb went off?"

"I don't," he said over his shoulder. "I can only hope that they did."

But something told him that hope, much like this city, was going to fail him.

...

Superman watched as firemen and city workers started mopping up the mess and putting out the fire. He approached the still smoldering building with a heavy heart and a weeping soul. He stood silent for several long minutes, trying to suppress the urge to either tear the world apart or sink to his knees. His relationship with Conner had always been a bit of a tumultuous one. Raya, Bruce and quite a few others had viewed him as Conner's father. He'd never quite managed to work around to accepting their logic, despite accepting the young man as part of his family. Now? Now he'd never get a chance to say all those things he hadn't known how to say. He'd never get to do any of those things he'd never known how to ask Conner to go and do.

_I'll never get to see him hold his own son or daughter in his arms_...

Now, he'd found, was too late. Conner was gone, killed by a psychotic monster that'd figured out his one weakness and used it against him in order to punish a girl who'd done nothing but had the misfortune of being born his daughter. Even now he could feel the drugging effects of the kryptonite that the bombmaker had used in their device. It was the one thing, the only thing, that could have taken Conner's life. As he turned to leave, he noticed the glimmer of something in the glow of the fire. He bent down and picked the object up, realizing that it was a golden key with a large "S" engraved upon it. He turned the key over in his palm, studying it.

_Could it be_...? he found himself wondering as he closed his fingers around the cold metal. _Can it be that someone opened a... time portal_?

His brows drew down over the bridge of his nose. It wasn't possible. It was unthinkable. He had to accept that Conner had been killed by a bomb set by an assassin hired by Matthew Berkeley. A sound drew his attention and he looked up. The sight that greeted him so shocked him that he couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

"Father…?" he managed to finally say around the lump lodged in his throat. "Father, is that you?"

"Son," he heard his father say in that deep baritone he only remembered in his dreams. "We need to talk."

...

Alfred Pennyworth was feeling horrible grief for the first time since Thomas and Martha Wayne had been killed. He'd learned about what had happened when Superman returned without Master Conner. Now, Alfred walked up the main staircase, thinking about the lives that had been horribly ruined by the cruel machinations of one man. He carried a tray into Master Bruce's bedroom, saw that his employer was standing at the window, still in his armor, the cowl tossed on the bed, staring out at the city skyline that was in the distance.

"I prepared a little breakfast for you, sir," he said.

"I'm not hungry, Alfred," came the quiet reply. "But thank you."

"I shall leave the tray here in case you change your mind."

Bruce merely nodded his assent, never looking away from the city that shone golden in the rising sun. "Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Did I do this to her? Did I bring this upon Raya? I thought I was saving her..."

"You did save her. You gave her a home and a family. You gave her hope and a purpose. You gave her love."

"I couldn't save him…" Bruce broke off, unable to finish the sentence. He swiped tears from his eyes as Alfred laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

"Miss Raya knows that you tried to save him. That you would have saved him were you able to do so. She doesn't blame you at all for what happened to Master Conner."

"She blames her father." Bruce slammed a gloved fist against the wall by the window. "I should have stopped him when I had the chance, Alfred."

"And then you wouldn't be the man that that girl looks up to and idolizes," the butler replied smartly. "_You_ raised Miss Raya to believe that there was good still in this world. _You _taught her how to mete out justice with compassion. _You_ are her father, Master Bruce. Not Matthew Berkeley."

Bruce was silent for a number of moments. Finally he turned his head and looked at Alfred. "What do I do, Alfred?"

"You do what you have always done, sir," Alfred said gently. "You help her to rise."

* * *

**A/N**: Hello, my lovelies… and goodbye! Again, I hope that you all have enjoyed the ride as much as I have! Thank you to everybody who has read and reviewed this story. I love you all!

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